


MorMor

by FlexiRuler



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Andrew Scott - Freeform, Bisexual Male Character, Boss/Employee Relationship, Child Abuse, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Gay, Gay Male Character, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Michael Fassbender - Freeform, Moving, Moving In Together, Past Child Abuse, Snipers, live-in one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2018-12-07 07:14:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 40,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11618625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlexiRuler/pseuds/FlexiRuler
Summary: Sebastian Moran - the man who killed men for other men, who drowned his sorrows in drink every night. Fallen into a pattern of self-destruction, a change was really what he needed. But he never could have expected what would have happened when he was offered a lucrative job opportunity with the one and only...James Moriarty - the man at the top of the food chain. Consulting criminal and untouchable. As he reminded those around him, 'no one ever got to him.' Apart from one man...Please don't be afraid to comment! Comments make me want to write - without them I wouldn't! I don't bite! **UPDATES EVERY FORTNIGHT - I PROMISE**





	1. An Offer He Couldn't Refuse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian Moran's final killing doesn't quite go to plan...

An Offer He Couldn't Refuse

His body was cold and stiff. He'd been lying on a damp roof in the heavy wind for an hour too long. Dammit, where was his target? His phone buzzed. He sighed and read it.  
Txt:[He's in the hotel opposite. Go there. Presidential suite.]  
It was from his current employer.  
“A 24th of my day wasted...” the man muttered under his breath, packing his weapon away. It wasn't often he had to get up and get personal with these sorts of things. It was always done from afar - he was given the orders and he followed them, but he was never compromised. However, this was a special target. A more important job. As far as Sebastian could gather, at least 12 people had requested this man dead and had all paid a fraction of the cost of the job.  
He'd go drinking tonight: he'd already decided that. With the 400 million pounds coming his way once he'd gotten this done, he could drink all day for every day of the rest of his life and still have enough money for 10 houses. This was his last job. His last target. His last murder. Well, unless another pub fight broke out, like what happened a few years back. He shook the memories off and approached the hotel.  
Swiftly putting his incognito sunglasses on, he walked past the grand reception and to the lift. He pressed the button for the top floor and prepared his hand gun. That gun was an old favourite of his. He'd saved up for weeks to get it back when he was just a teenager. Before he even really needed it. He'd just loved guns. Always had. He'd play with soldiers and toy guns when he was a child and always knew he'd have a real one some day.  
Anyway, no time for living in the past. He was here and now and he was about to make his fortune. One shot, one job, one man and that would be it. He'd be a millionaire. Sorted for the rest of his life. And he couldn't wait.  
The lift arrived with a satisfying ping! and he got out, slotting the firearm into the inside pocket of his coat. The door to the presidential suite was large and gold-encrusted. He inhaled deeply and knocked.  
“Room service. Can I come in?” Sebastian called, his heart thumping hard in his chest, as it always did before he killed.  
There was a rude hum of, “yeah...” that came back. He pushed the door open and took in what was on the other side.  
It wasn't the elaborate decorations or the posh furniture or the general air of rich that got his immediate attention. Oh no. It was the man who he was hired to kill who was sat on a large, red chair with his legs crossed, resting his head on one arm. He had dark, dark eyes and dark, dark hair and a look on his face that read, at just one glance, 'don't even try.' He was a man of small frame and height but had a clear and natural attitude of being in control.  
Moriarty. That was his name. Seb didn't know what his first name was but that didn't matter. He wasn't the sort of man who needed to be known by two names. He only needed the one. But he'd be dead very soon. Just a legacy.  
“You've come here to kill me...” the Irish man glanced up and made eye contact with him, “but, unfortunately, that's not going to work. So you may aswell take your hand out of your jacket and leave the gun right where it is.” He sang the last few words with a smug smile on his face that instantly annoyed the hitman. It made him want to punch him in the face. But he refrained and kept his hand where it was. His cover had been blown but how?  
“Moran. Colonel Sebastian Moran. Hitman for hire.” The criminal stated it like he was trying to sell him on TV. “Beyond excellent reflexes. Hands steadier than anything. Best sniper in Europe. About to make his biggest hit. Well, he would be. If it wasn't for what's about to happen.” He stood up and Seb took a step back, his grip tightening on the gun. He didn't trust this man at all. He had a lot of enemies. A lot of rich enemies.  
“And what's about to happen?” Seb's voice came through gritted teeth. He was on edge, ready to shoot at any moment. He didn't like the way this was going.  
“I'm about to make him an offer he can't refuse.”

Despite Moran's initial scepticism, the offer did transpire to be one he most definitely could not refuse. Blow the money he would've made, Moriarty had offered him something he'd be an idiot to turn down. Sure, it meant a lot of work, lots of hours, a lot of time and effort. It would be mentally and physically exhausting. But he was certain it would be worth it.  
A Live-In Sniper is what he called it. The title was pretty self-explanatory: a sniper that lives with his employer. At first, of course, Sebastian was appalled by the idea and was milliseconds away from putting a bullet in the criminal's pretty face. But the criminal soon convinced him otherwise.  
The pros would outweigh the cons. Sebastian would be a form of bodyguard for Moriarty, and in return would be given a more-than-adequate wage and free lodging in whatever mansion the man was staying at the time. His primary goal: keep Moriarty happy and safe.  
This was quite the opposite of the reason he was there. He didn't want to be weak and give in to him. He didn't want to go back on what he'd said he would do. But there was something about the strange, short man that made him consider the words he was saying. He wasn't sure what it was, but it was something.  
“So, what do you say?” By then, the man was only a few inches away from him, looking up at him and straightening his suit.  
Seb sighed begrudgingly but then nodded, “fine. I'll do it.”  
Moriarty's face like up like a Christmas tree and he smiled brightly, “great. You start tomorrow. Get your things packed up. I'll pick you up at 3.” He had turned Sebastian around so he was facing the door. “Now off you pop.” The shorter man had opened the door and pushed Sebastian, who was pretty much speechless by this point, through, singing, “bye!”


	2. Decisions, Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seb goes to live with the psychopath, and gets to know him a bit more on the journey

His head was rushing. What the hell had just happened? He had just agreed to not only work for his boss's biggest enemy, but to move in with him. What was wrong with him? Why did he agree to do that? Why didn't he just shoot him there and then? Why did he even listen to what he had to say?  
Once he was outside, the fresh air filled his lungs. But what he was really after was a cigarette. He needed one after that. He deserved one after that. Leaning against the side of the hotel and looking up at the sky, he lit the cigarette that was between his lips. The toxins rushed through his blood stream and made him calm down and be able to think straight. He ran a hand through his hair and he sighed loudly. He was in a mess. His employers would be waiting to hear from him. How the hell was he meant to explain what had just happened?  
Jumping in a taxi, he decided to head home for the last time, considering he would be living somewhere else the next day, apparently.  
He still wasn't sure why he'd agreed. Maybe it was boredom. Maybe it was the knowledge that, if he became rich through killing him, his life would still be as painfully empty and lonely as it was before. Maybe he wanted a new adventure. Maybe he wanted the danger.  
Or maybe there was something about that funny, little Irish man that Sebastian quite liked. Just maybe.  
Not wanting to think about the problem at hand any more, he got in, switched his phone off, drunk for an hour, and passed out at the kitchen table. 

“Fuck-” he groaned upon waking up. The table edge had burned a red line onto his face while he slept. He had the familiar ache of a hangover that was so familiar from his years of over-drinking that he barely noticed it, and it would probably feel strange to wake without the dull thrumming in the back of his head and a foul mood. He glanced at the wall-clock, which read 12:25. He groaned again and hit his head with his hand. “For God's sake-!” The man yelled, having a quick swig of whiskey, and stood up by practically throwing the stool behind himself. It was still trying to steady itself as he left the room and went upstairs to get boxes to pack his things.  
He hadn't been in the house long. Or at least he didn't think he had. When he really thought about it, it must have been at least 7 years. But it still felt like someone else's house. Like he'd never really moved in. But oh well, it meant he had less work to do now he was moving out.  
He only filled 3 boxes, and he probably could have fitted that in 2. It was now 1:50. He had time to kill. Instead of drinking, like he would have on any other given day, he decided to do a little bit of research.  
He was 1 hour and 10 minutes away from moving in with a man he didn't even know the first name of. He'd be even more mad than he already was if he didn't do a little homework on the man before hand.  
Typing 'Moriarty' into Google didn't come to much avail, only that there was an author of the same name and it was a surname of Irish decent. Like himself. He soon realised that, of course, Moriarty was a private man who would have had all traces of himself and his identity removed from common search engines. He wasn't sure how to go about finding out information. So he got his phone out, ignoring the hostile and confused texts from his employers, and texted an old friend who was involved in the wrong side of the law and had been for all his life.  
[Txt: What do you know about Moriarty? - SM]  
When his friend's reply came, he really knew he was in trouble.  
[Txt: Never say that name again. Destroy your SIM just in case. Don't get involved with anything to do with him. And certainly don't involve me.]  
“Shit...” he muttered to himself. This really wasn't looking good.  
He had another swig or two of strong alcohol. He convinced himself that he needed to be intoxicated to deal with this situation. He lit up and blew it into the air, watching the grey patterns make their way across the room. It calmed him slightly. “Oh well, it'll be something different... and the pay is excellent.”  
He drank away the next half hour and then there was a knock on the door. He answered it and it wasn't Moriarty. It was a different man who looked more like a driver.  
“Moran? Sebastian Moran?”  
“Yes. Have you come with-?”  
“Yes. Where are your things?” He asked, coming into the house without even asking. Sebastian was too drunk to be annoyed at his rudeness and just pointed to the boxes. “That it, sir?”  
He hummed affirmatively and stepped outside, getting a look at the blacked-out car that was parked a few meters away. The window in the back rolled down to reveal the criminal, who was just smiling like an idiot and waving at him. He didn't wave back. And he certainly didn't smile. He turned his back and locked the door after the man got his things out. He patted the door, with a faint feeling of sentiment, “bye.”  
That was the first and last time he would say goodbye to a house.  
Then again, maybe he was realising that he wasn't just saying goodbye to property, he was saying goodbye to any trace of normality he'd had. He didn't even know the man but he knew he was trouble. He knew that this chapter of his life would be drastically different to any other. And he was kind of excited to experience it.  
When he turned back to the car, the man had opened the other door in the back, waiting for Seb to get in. He did get in, feeling a little weird to have someone open it for him. He mumbled a “thanks,” as the man closed the door on him and got in the front.  
“Hello, Sebastian dear!” Moriarty was still smiling and Seb couldn't tell if it was real or not.  
“...Hi.” He wasn't quite so enthusiastic about the situation.  
“Drive!” He commanded, briefly looking towards the front of the car, before turning his attention to Sebastian again. “I've been looking forward to this.”  
“I can tell.”  
“Have you?”  
“Not particularly. Mind if I smoke?” He asked, pulling his tin out of his leather jacket.  
He shrugged, “as long as I can have one.”  
He offered him one and the man put it between his lips. Seb lit it for him, and they made eye contact as he did so. It felt oddly intimate. Seb looked away and lit his own. He gazed out the window, “I don't why I agreed to this... I must be mad.”  
“Oh yes, of course. I'm counting on that,” he chuckled. “You wouldn't be much use to me if you were ordinary.”  
He turned his head and looked at him, “I don't even know your name.”  
“Jim. Hi,” He grinned and held his spare hand out. Seb narrowed his eyes but shook it nonetheless. “Nice to meet you.” He couldn't help but feel that 'Jim' didn't suit a mastermind criminal. Yet, it sort of did.  
“Nice to move in with you.” They let go and smoked. Why was he holding back a smile? Why did he feel so... comfortable around this man? He didn't want to consider the answers, so distracted himself. “So, why do you need a 'live-in sniper?' What am I even meant to do?”  
“Well, I always need people murdered and you're excellent at that. And, well, I'm lonely.” Jim paused, looking at the floor for a moment before continuing his reply. “You'll basically be a bodyguard. Making sure I'm safe. Not just from assassins, I mean from anything.” He gazed up at him, “including myself. I can be quite... self-destructive. And that's putting it politely. I just want you to make me happy.”  
“But I’m not even-” he cut himself off.  
“Not even what?”  
He sighed, deciding he had nothing to lose by saying it, “I'm not even happy myself. I wouldn't know where to start trying to make someone else it.”  
To Seb's surprise, the other man was smiling, “I know that. I hope that we can make each other happy.”  
“That sounds more like a relationship than a job.”  
Jim shrugged, “call it what you want. Words are meaningless without context. And I’m not sure what context you would apply to this.”  
He found himself chuckling, stubbing his cigarette out on the car door, “fair point.”  
“Now you work for me, I'm going to have to ask that you don't drink on the job. Keep that for after 7pm at least.”  
He nodded, it was a fair enough request that he wasn't going to argue with, “okay.”  
“Didn't expect you to be so easy to agree. I've heard you're very stubborn.”  
His brow furrowed, “heard from who?”  
“People who know you well enough to know that you're stubborn,” he smiled a smile that let Seb know that he wasn't going to let on. He gave the subject up.  
“I can be stubborn.”  
“I look forward to it,” Jim had a strange expression, almost one of sentiment, as he looked onwards.  
“What is it exactly that you... do?” Seb had to ask, after a minute or so of silence.  
“I'm a consulting criminal.”  
“Yeah, I don't know what that is. I just know you've made a hell of a lot of enemies.”  
“It means that people who want crimes committed come to me and I commit them.”  
“Right...” Seb frowned momentarily, “but you don't seem like the kind of guy who would do the act itself. You seem like the kind of guy that hires guys like me to do what you want.”  
He smiled, showing his looked-after teeth, “exactly.”  
“So, you're basically a middle-man?”  
This clearly struck a chord with Jim, who gasped, “no! I am much more than that! Most of my clients wouldn't even know where to begin getting what they want done. Most of them are clueless. I help them.”  
“And they pay you? What do you get out of it?”  
He shrugged once more, “they don't pay me. Unless they insist. No, I just enjoy causing trouble.”  
Now that's my kind of man, the voice in Sebastian's head was extremely happy. Of course, Seb didn't vocalise anything of the sort, and instead just chuckled a little in approval and looked back out of the window, worrying about the way his subconscious had taken such a distinct liking to the man. They were approaching the centre of London, far away from where Seb lived, but he travelled there often on jobs.  
“Where are we going exactly?”  
“Not far now.”  
They still travelled further into the city.  
“Jeez, do you live in Buckingham Palace or something?” He laughed. They suddenly took a turning he didn't notice was there before. It came to a posh estate that comprised of roughly 10 houses. Well, more like mansion. High-end, worth millions, luxurious pads.  
“No, I live here,” the car stopped outside the building in the centre of the other houses, “and now, you do too.”


	3. Dear Tiger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian begins to experience life with Moriarty and what his work will require.... also he acquires some pet names he isn't too fond of

**It didn't take** Sebastian long to unpack his few boxes of things into the room Jim had allocated for him, just across the hall from Jim's, in fact. It was a nice, spacious room with a large, floor-length window facing East. The walls were white and the floor was plain laminate, but Jim had told him to decorate as he pleased. It had a king-sized, white bed and a wardrobe too big for Seb's small amount of clothes. It had an en-suite and even a minibar, which was the obvious perk for Seb. Though it made him wish that his boss hadn't placed in the 7pm rule.

He sat on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands, lighting a cigarette. He sighed and contemplated everything. He'd just moved in with a psychopath and agreed to keep him happy. He must be mad.

Stubbing the cigarette out on the plain wall, leaving a horrible mark, he decided to go and find Jim. He was surprised to find him with earbuds in, humming along tunelessly to a song and cleaning the kitchen surfaces. He watched him for a moment or two in the doorway, amused at the sight. Until Jim turned and saw him, taking the music out.

“Sebastian?”

“Was just wondering if there was anything I needed to do, sir.” The 'sir' was nothing more than a force of habit he'd gotten from the army. He couldn't help it. But it made Jim frown, though he didn't comment on it.

“Have you unpacked?”

“Yeah.”

“Then... help me with the kitchen,” he gestured around himself. “It's filthy.”

So Sebastian grabbed a cloth and some spray and started to give the cooker a good seeing-to.

“I never normally clean... it's only because I have company. Gotta have standards, right?” Jim chuckled, “I'm going to have to clean everything... your room is the only acceptable one here. And that's only because it was never touched.”

“Well, it's a good job I like cleaning, then, isn't it?” Seb looked at him from the corner of his eye and smiled a little, scrubbing the burnt food off the cooker hood. Jim averted eye contact after a moment, focusing on cleaning a very specific area of the surface which he'd already cleaned. “You lived here long?”

“I live in many places. But I’ve been here about 2 years, on and off.”

“On your own?” Seb couldn't help asking.

“Yes, on my own.”

The sniper nodded and said nothing in reply.

“How many years have you been back from the army?” Jim asked suddenly.

“9,” he sighed. “How did you know I was in the army?”

He looked across at him, “the same way I know your address and that you're stubborn.” He was smirking, “and also that necklace kind of gives it away. Just a bit.”

“Ah,” Seb looked down at it, putting it between his index and thumb, twirling it in the light. ' _S MORAN – COLONEL – 37203_ ', it read. He'd worn it everyday since he'd come back. Though he wasn't sure exactly why. “Of course.” He put it down to clean again.

“Colonel, eh?” Jim raised an eyebrow, “something must have went _really_ wrong for you to have been discharged without honour.”

He looked at him and narrowed his eyes, “I don't like to talk about that.”

The shorter man held his hands up in surrender, “okay, okay. I won't bring it up again.”

“Thanks,” he grunted, looking back at his work and trying not to think of the painful memories the man had just resurfaced for him. Losing his temper a little, he finished and threw the cloth into the sink. “Are there any other rooms I can clean, boss?”

Jim glanced at him and frowned, “no. No, you're fine. Go do what you want. Pretend it's 7. Go drink,” he shrugged, sounding fed up, “I don't care.”

“Sir,” he nodded and left to go back to his room. He cracked open a whiskey and had half, before making the decision to find a local bar. Taking a spare set of keys and wearing his leather jacket, he headed out. He didn't have to walk more than 5 minutes to end up at a half-decent pub. He ordered a few beers and sat down in a boothe.

It was a dismal place, empty apart from a few drunk regulars. Seb felt that he'd become one of them soon, drinking his problems away, alone in a darkened bar. He finished the first pint. Then the second. Then he ordered and third and a fourth and he finished them too. He ordered a whiskey and finished that. He ordered a G and T and downed that too.

By then, it was 9pm and he was pretty legless. Stumbling, he made his way back to the house, having to stop to think which house it was. Eventually going into the right one, he made his way up the stairs, chuckling to himself about nothing. He fell onto his bed and passed out, still with his shoes on.

 

 **Everything was way** too bright when he woke up. He sighed angrily, hitting the pillow. When he fully opened his eyes, he saw Jim standing by the open curtains, tutting at him.

“When I said you could drink, I didn't mean this much. Jeez, how did you even walk home?”

He sat up, blocking the light to his eyes with his hand, “I think I fell in a bush at one point.”

They both chuckled.

“Don't get that drunk again. It could be dangerous,” he started to leave.

Seb narrowed his eyes at him, “what do you care?”

The criminal smirked, “I've made you toast in the kitchen and tea. There are also painkillers. Get dressed, when you can, into something decent: we have work to do.” And with that, he left.

 

 **So he finished** the breakfast Jim had so kindly made for him, not taking the painkillers, and got dressed into a plain white shirt, black trousers and his leather jacket. Jim was waiting in the porch, leaning against the wall and playing on his phone. He glanced up at Seb, who was, at the time, putting his sunglasses on and lighting a cigarette.

“12 minutes and 37 seconds.”

“You were counting?” The taller man raised his eyebrows, walking through the open door and locking it behind himeslf.

“You need to improve on that,” he said as they made their way to the car, with the same driver in as before. Seb realised that he was obviously some personal driver for Moriarty.

“Sure. Anyway, where are we going? What work do we have to do?” Seb got in the other side of the vehicle to his boss.

Jim looked across at him when all the doors were closed and they started driving off, “we're going to meet a man.”

“Does he want a crime committed?”

“Well, kind of. It'll all make sense soon, Seb.” He paused, “can I call you Seb?”

He shrugged and then nodded, “call me whatever you want.”

“I'll have to think up a nickname for you...” he started to ponder but was interupted by the driver.

“This street, sir?”

“Yeah, this'll do,” the car stopped and both men got out. The car drove away immediately.

“We could have walked,” the ex-colonel pointed out, sighing. Jim gave him a look that said, ' _well, duh_.'

“We could have, yes, but then our client would know that we live within walking distance of the destination we're meeting them at. And that would be too dangerous. So always arrive by car. Always. Regardless of distance.”

“Fair enough...” he pulled a face. “So, where _is_ this client of yours, anyway?” All he could see was people and traffic and the general business of London.

“Right there,” Jim pointed to a taxi parked on the opposite side of the road to them.

Seb laughed, “is a double drive really necessary?”

“No, no, we're not being driven. We're meeting the driver.”

“Oh...” he nodded, realising the situation, “I see. A cabbie.” As he said that, the taxi's engine switched off and the man came out. He was a short, aged man with a cap on. He looked ill. He looked generally fed up with everything. Seb wondered what on earth a man like that would have to do with a man like Jim.

“But not _just_ a cabbie. He's possibly about to get another source of income.”

He glanced across at the dark haired man and frowned, “ _you're_ going to pay _him_? How on earth are you so rich from this consulting criminal business? All you seem to do is not get paid at all, or give your money _to_ your clients!” He scoffed and Jim flashed him a look of anger which told him to shut up. So he did. It was only his second day on the job and he didn't want to be fired.

The driver eventually crossed the busy road and approached the two men. Jim nodded at him, acknowledging him. He nodded in return.

“Starbucks?” The man offered. He had an accent.

“Sure. Starbucks.” Jim agreed and they all made their way, silently, to Starbucks, Jim playing on his phone still. They sat down. “Seb, dear, order yourself something.” Jim ordered, not even looking at him. Seb frowned at the 'dear'. Surely _that_ wasn't his new nickname? He couldn't put it with that. Too condescending.

Sighing, he went and joined the queue. The word was still playing on his mind by the time his coffee was done. His foul mood was made even worse by the fact that they'd spelled Seb as ' _Sebe_.' He sat down with a force and sipped his drink, trying to jump in half-way through a conversation.

“So, which pill is it?” Jim asked the man, who just smiled.

“Now, that'd be telling, wouldn't it?” He sniggered, “let's just say it's never the one I take.”

“Fine. I'll do it. I'll... sign you up,” he announced, after a long pause. “For every kill you make, and don't die yourself as a direct result of, I will add 50, 000 into that bank account. Sound fair?”

“Sounds great to me.”

“And if you _do_ get to speak to him, tell him I'm a fan, would you?” Jim smiled a little bit and gestured with his hands for him to leave, “now off you pop. I'll see you in the headlines.”

“You will, sir, you will,” he stood up, taking his cap off to the criminal, before turning and leaving.

There was a pause before either of the two men said anything, “so, what the hell was that all about?”

“Are you annoyed that I called you ' _dear_?'”

“Never answer a question with a question.”

“So stop avoiding my question and I might just answer yours. Are you annoyed because of that, yes or no?” He finally looked at him. Seb drank his coffee and stared him straight in the eye.

“Yes.”

“Don't be. It's a force of habit. I didn't mean anything by it,” he looked away. “It just... slipped out. Anyway,” he took a breath, “that man was my newest client. He's a cabbie by day, killer by night. It's really quite clever, there's two pills and some silly psychological game. Anyway, he's ill and wants his kids to have money when he passes, so for every person he kills, I pay into their account.”

Seb nodded, “what about the _'tell him I'm a fan'_? Who were you refering to?”

He finally looked back, a smile playing on his lips, “my enemy.”

 

 **The rest of** the day comprised of Sebastian following Jim into shops he didn't care about. He was pretty sure it couldn't be classed as 'work', but he didn't bring it up. He just held the bags.

Something was playing on his mind, though: a habit of calling someone 'dear' didn't come from living alone. It made him think. Jim had lied to him, but why? He had no need, no incentive, no reason to. It just seemed weird to lie about something like that.

Anyway, Seb seemed to be doing his job well. Jim wasn't dead and he was smiling. Safe and happy, check and check.

“Do you like these?” Moriarty held up a pair of sunglasses, almost the exact replica of his own. “They're like yours.”

“Yeah, they are.”

“But do you like them?”

“Well yes. I wouldn't have bought mine otherwise.”

Jim smiled and then pulled a face, looking at his reflection in the store mirror, “maybe they're _too much_ like yours...”

“I think so, yeah. Maybe try these?” He picked up another pair, different but still nice. After trying them on and deciding he liked them, Jim bought them. “We're going to look like a right dodgy pair walking down the street now.” Seb chuckled to himself as they left to walk home.

“Well, we are. I'm a criminal mastermind and you're a hitman. Doesn't get much more dodgy than that, does it?” Jim laughed and looked at him. “You know, I think we're going to get on.”

“As long as you're not an insufferable bastard, we'll be fine,” he grinned, lighting a cigarette.

“Well, I am a bastard. And I've been called insufferable, or words to that effect, _many_ a time.”

He glanced across at him, blowing smoke out, “I wouldn't worry too much about it. I'm the most insufferable bastard you could wish to meet.”

“Then we suit rather well.”

Seb didn't answer this and instead just smiled genuinely. It felt nice to smile. It had been a long time since he really had. Years of bad habits had resulted in a lonely, empty life, without much happiness or laughter. He was glad he'd made this choice. There was something about Jim that he liked and that made him feel, well, happy. He didn't want to lose that now.

They spent the strole home talking about trivial nonsense, but had a good laugh. He learned that Jim was a fan of music, particularly Classical and 80s. Jim learned that Seb named his guns and talked to them like friends.

They came in through the front door, “so the one you pointed at me was called what?” Jim sniggered, coming in.

“Her? She's Maggie.”

“Maggie!” Jim laughed loudly and Seb chuckled. “Oh, that's great. Well... they'll never betray you. Or tell your secrets. They're good friends.”

“Just quiet,” he giggled, throwing his shoes off and one hitting the wall. “Tea?”

“Yeah, thanks,” the short man went and sat down in the living room, flicking the TV on. Seb made the teas and came in to find him, putting them down on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

“You don't take sugar, do you?”

He looked at him with the ' _duh_ ' look again. Seb felt he was going to see that a lot. “No, I don't. Hence why there's none in the kitchen.” The look faded and then he chuckled, “are all your guns female? Or are some male? Are there any gender-neutrals?”

“There's Sid and Derek, they're male. There are a few who are neutral, yeah. I guess. Never really thought about it.”

“It's funny.”

“You seem to find it hilarious.”

“Because it is.”

They sat in friendly silence for a while, sipping their tea and watching The Jeremy Kyle Show.

“He's not the father.” Jim peeped up.

“No?”

“No. It's obvious.” Sure enough, Jeremy's card read _'not the father!'_ and the audience booed. “Told you.”

Seb smirked, “such a show off.”

“Can't help it. There's just so much _to_ show off. It'd be a shame to waste it.”

They both chuckled. Seb began to realise that this is what people refered to as 'clicking.' He and Jim had clicked. They got on well. They talked for a while and watched TV. They ate. It was like they were normal. It was the only bit of normality either of them had experienced for a very long time.

When Seb was washing the dishes, Jim approached him, “hey.”

“Hey,” he turned around and looked at him, “alright?”

“I was just thinking. I have the perfect nickname for you.”

“Yeah? And what's that?” Seb was amused and he turned around to face him, drying his hands on a dishtowel.

“Tiger.”

“Tiger? Why Tiger?”

Jim put his hand up and gently traced the scar around Seb's left eye. He winced a little, both from the memory and the fear of having someone else touch him. “Because you look like a tiger.” His index and middle fingers lingered on his skin and it tingled. He quickly touched the one over the bridge of his nose before removing his hand completely.

Seb said nothing. He wasn't sure what to think about that, really. He didn't know what to do. So he just looked at Jim, who didn't know what to say either. They stayed like this for a few minutes, just staring at each other silently, until Seb finally broke the silence with, “I'm going to bed. Goodnight.”

“Yeah, night,” Jim muttered in response, looking at the floor.

Seb slept on his new bed, his mind racing with thoughts and questions and uncertainties.

 


	4. Drunk Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone doesn't like the way their thoughts are heading and so gets drunk to stop them

Jim did start calling him Tiger and Seb slowly found that he didn't really mind. He got used to it. After a few weeks of, “make me a tea, would you, Tiger?” and, “hey, Tiger, what trouble should we cause today? Fancy a kidnapping?” the word just blended in with the rest of the sentence. The occasional, but not frequent, “dear” did catch Seb off-guard but he became less and less bothered by it, until, eventually, he got used to that too.  
One thing he couldn't get used to, however, was Jim's mood swings and changeability. In the time it took Seb to make him a cup of tea, Jim would be the polar opposite mood to what he was a few minutes earlier, and didn't want a tea any more, he would want a coffee. It wasn't just the waste of perfectly good beverages that annoyed Sebastian, it was the fact that is constantly set him on edge, he wasn't sure how to deal with him. 

A sight Seb hadn't seen before: Jim pointing his handgun at his own reflection in the mirror. The taller man held back a sigh, he'd been fine just a few moments ago. What could have possibly happened in the time it took him to make a coffee?  
“Jim,” he raised his eyebrows at him. The criminal looked at him via the mirror above the fireplace, but said nothing. “What are you doing?”  
“Contemplating.”  
“Contemplating what, exactly?” He put his coffee down on a coaster, hand on hip.  
“What I've always contemplated...” the dark-haired man sighed loudly, like a stropping teenager, and tossed his gun down onto the stone fireplace in front of him. He turned around to look at Seb, a look in his eye that the sniper hadn't seen before, “...death.”  
He frowned but then chuckled, “you really go for all the stereotypes, don't you?”  
It was Jim's turn to frown, “how do you mean?”  
“Well, you know, a well-off, crazy criminal who's never been interested in living. It's been done before, that's all I’m saying. You didn't happen to have had a crappy childhood, which led you to this way of life, did you?” He hoped he would distinguish the sarcasm in his voice. He was still a little, more than a little, scared of Jim and realised that saying this might be hitting too close to home. He prayed he wasn't.  
Jim's face was angry. Then amused. Or at least Sebastian hoped it was amusement. He was never really entirely sure. But the laughter that followed confirmed his theory, “that's for me to know, and no-one else to find out.”  
He nodded, “ah, I see. Also secretive. Another cliché.”  
The dark-eyed man flopped himself down onto the sofa and flicked the TV on, not really watching it. Losing track of his thoughts and zoning out, Seb just watched him and wasn't even sure why. He narrowed his eyes, studying him. The way he sat, the way the TV light flickered in his pool eyes, the way his hair fell, the little bits of stubble he had coming through from a day or two of not shaving, the way his bottom lip stuck out slightly more than the top, the strange expression on his face...  
And suddenly Jim was aware of him staring and was looking right at the ex-colonel, frowning only slightly, in a way that Seb only now noticed because he'd memorised every little detail about him in the few minutes he was looking at him for.  
“What are you looking at? Do I have something on my face or what?” He frowned, touching each side of his face as if to wipe something off it that wasn't there in the first place.  
Seb realised that he had patterns of frownlines on his forehead. He realised that they must have been from years of working hard to get where he was now.  
“No-no. Sorry,” he quickly picked up and drank his coffee, a welcome distraction from whatever had just happened. He finished it, put it back down, and excused himself. He went and sat on his bed, wondering what on earth he'd just done that for. More worrying again was the fact that he'd started to see things in Jim that he hadn't before. Small details, little things. But he couldn't get them out of his head. When he sat there on the edge of his bed, running his hands through his light hair, everytime he closed his eyes he saw Jim from that angle. He could remember precisely every detail. He always did have an excellent memory, but only for things he wanted or needed to remember. He certainly didn't need to remember how many frownlines Jim had. So did that mean that he wanted to? He didn't want to entertain the possibility. He didn't want to think that, within only a few short weeks, he'd started to develop feelings for that psychopath. Whatever those feelings might be. Friendship or... or whatever else it was. He didn't want to think about it too much. He glanced at the clock. 19:03. Damnit, he needed a drink.  
So he cracked open the minibar and had a couple of beers by himself. He after the first few, he started to block out the worrying thoughts in his head, which was a relief for him. He hesitated before having some whiskey. Should he? Screw it, why not? He'd worked hard all day, hiding out in some crackden trying to avoid junkies as he shot someone out of the broken window. He justified in his own mind that he deserved to get hammered after that.  
So he did.

He came down at around 10:30pm for a glass of water from the kitchen. By this point, he was stumbling and had to hold on more than usual to the banister to get down the stairs. He practically fell into the kitchen, mumbling to himself about something or other. Jim was making himself some toast at the time, and eyed him carefully.  
“Hello there, Tiger. Drunk enough yet?” He was smiling. But Seb didn't notice that. He opened the cupboard to get a glass out and shut it with a little too much force, causing the glasses to shake inside. “Careful. Don't break anything.”  
“W-Why am I down here?” He stopped suddenly, staring down at the glass in his hand like a ghost had just picked it up and handed it to him. Then he remembered, vocalising this revelation with a long, “ohhhh....” He ran the tap and stuggled to keep the glass still enough to fill it. He started laughing.  
Jim just watched this all play out, “you're really in a bit of a mess there, aren't you, dear?” He sighed, deciding to intervene. He took the glass off him and put his hand in the stream of water. “That's the hot tap, you idiot.” He chuckled and filled the glass with the right type of water. Seb went to take it off him but he held it away so he couldn't get it. “No, you'd drop it and I don't want glass all over the place. Last thing you need is to fall on broken glass. Besides, I have light carpets. It'd be a bloody mess. Literally. Now come on.” He spoke like he was dealing with a child. He put his arm around Seb and led him upstairs, the glass in his other hand. Seb leaned on him and it made Jim realise how much bigger he was than himself. He really wasn't strong enough to support him that much. Nevertheless, he helped him to and up the stairs. Seb was muttering something he couldn't hear. “What?”  
“I was just saying, that I don't need the details anyway... I just... wanted them... don't care. Don't need them. I was just trying to be clever. That's all. Means... nothing. Nothing at all.” He was slurring his words and obviously made no sense at all to Jim, who just pulled a face and continued aiding him to his room. He pushed the door open and took his arm away.  
“Will you be okay?” He stopped at the door, handing him over the glass. He didn't want to go in. It would feel a little invasive.  
Seb went and sat on the bed, sighing and pouting a little. He looked like a sad child, staring into space, “dunno how I feel any more...”  
Jim didn't want an emotional conversation. He wanted to go to bed.  
“Right. Well, maybe decide when you're sober, yeah?”  
Seb wasn't aware that he was tipping the drink onto the floor. Jim sighed and quickly came to the carpet's rescue, taking the glass off him completely and putting it on the bedside table.  
“You need to sleep. Sleep this off,” the short man said decisively. Seb barely took in his words and just gazed up at him.  
He hummed happily, a euphoric expression on his face, “you're... pretty when you're being all lookey-afterey.” He chuckled to himself.  
Jim frowned at his words and spoke a little harsher, “sleep. Now.”  
“Not tired.”  
“Don't care,” the criminal decided to take charge of the situation and deal with it himself. He pulled the blanket over his torso, even though he was sitting up. It only took a gentle push of his chest to send him down so his head was on the pillow. He tucked the blanket up to his chin, lightly sat on the edge of the bed himself, looking down on him in pity. His lips were a hard line and Seb, even with his eyes half shut, noticed this, his drunk self not caring about or understanding the concept of things you do and don't say.  
“I'm worried about-about my brain. About what you've done to it.” He stumbled over his words.  
Jim found himself stroking Seb's hair back with his thumbs absent-mindedly. Didn't even realise he was doing it. And when he did, he didn't care. It felt right so he carried on. He was basically just dealing with a child. And they needed care even if they were playing up.  
“Yeah? Maybe tell me in the morning, dear, okay? I don't want you to say anything you might regret.” He quickly scanned the room, seeing how much he'd had to drink. “Jeez...” he muttered under his breath. He turned back to him. “And I don't think I’ve done anything to that funny brain of yours. I'm pretty sure all the damage was already done, don't you?” He tapped Seb's temples, before letting go of him entirely. Seb frowned. He was enjoying that. Though he didn't realise at the time. “Look, just sleep it off, okay? There's water. You'll need that when you wake up, trust me,” he sighed, standing up and leaving him. He stood by the door, hand hovering over the light switch. “Sweet dreams, Tiger.”


	5. Mistakes

**As soon as** he woke he knew he'd made a mistake. That deep feeling that something was wrong, that something had happened, but he couldn't place what. He rubbed between his eyes and groaned loudly. Light was seeping in through the curtains so Seb knew it was morning. What was the last thing he remembered? Staring at Jim and not being sure why. Getting drunk. Waking up.

But something _had_ happened. He knew it had, a deep gut feeling. He somehow sat up and looked around, head in his hands. He spotted the water... water! That meant something... something had happened... Angry at not remembering, he took a few large gulps of the liquid. He tried to hear Jim scuttling around downstairs but he couldn't. He sighed and stood up, stomping his way downstairs for a coffee. To his relief, Jim wasn't there. He didn't know where he was. This made him frown, but he just sat down and drank his drink, mentally debating with himself over taking painkillers or not. He decided against. And then decided that being unsure was annoying him too much, so called for Jim.

“Jim! Where are you? You here?” He immediately regretted shouting that loud.

“Yeah I'm here – doing the washing. I'll be down in a minute!” The younger man yelled back a few moments later.

Dread filled up in his stomach. He knew he'd done something. He just couldn't remember what. Well, he'd have to find out eventually and better sooner rather than later, right?

Exactly a minute later, _not_ that Seb was counting, Jim appeared. He chuckled at the sight of the hang-over-ridden Sebasatian and shook his head a little, “my, my, you were in a mess last night.”

“Something happened, what happened?” He frowned, “I can't remember anything...”

“You weren't making much sense. I had to put you to bed.”

“Did I-Did I _say_ anything?”

“You said I was pretty,” he laughed at the fresh memory. “You were legless.”

“I'm sorry...” The shame was too much for him.

“Just try not to get like it again, okay? Not that bad. I can't be carrying you up the stairs, you're too heavy for me.”

This made Seb chuckle, “yeah... you're a pretty weedy thing, aren't you?”

“ _Pretty_ isn't the word _I'd_ use...” Jim was teasing him over last night and he knew it, “but if you insist...”

“Please, don't bring it up. I didn't know what I was talking about.” He sighed and then realised what he had infered. “Not that you're not pretty or anything, 'cause you are, no, not like, oh-” He stumbled over his words as Jim laughed. He was in a mess now.

“Just be quiet, Moran,” his words were stern but there was a smile on his lips. “You're digging a deeper hole. Let's just leave it.” He walked into the room, “toast?”

“I-I'm okay, thanks,” Seb tried to maintain some sort of normality and equilibrium to his voice. Deep down, he was a nervous wreck. He didn't want to anger Jim. He didn't want his drunk-self giving away things that his sober-self wasn't even sure about. He needed to sort his head out, “I'm going out for a run, actually. I need some exercise.”

Jim nodded, turned around to the toaster, “sure.”

As Seb was leaving, tying his running shoes, he called, “see you in a bit.”

“Be careful, tiger.”

 

 **The air filled** his burning lungs and his legs started to ache. It had been a while since he'd trained and his body was now paying the price. He stopped by the side of a road and caught his breath, resting his hands on his thighs and staring at the small stones that made up the pavement.

Running wasn't only for him to make sure he kept his level of fitness up, it was so he could clear his mind and sort some things out. He needed to. Of course he realised that Jim was a dangerous man who wouldn't tolerate being called 'pretty' for very long. Seb needed to be careful, especially when he was drunk. Provoking the world's craziest criminal was not on his bucket list, and would likely be the last thing he'd do anyway.

His feet keeping rhythm with his shuffle, currently: Dooper Than Doop, he sorted through his thoughts.

Home came too quickly but he was far too exhausted to carry on running. He glanced at his watch: he'd been out for two hours. It didn't feel like that long.

“ _And you have the_ _ **audacity**_ _to walk on in here after you_ _ **took from me**_ _?!”_ The familiar sound of a yelling Moriarty filled the house and Seb smiled to himself. At first, it had scared him, but now, 6 months into the job, he'd gotten used to it. One could even say he was slightly fond of it.

After drinking a litre of spring water, he made his way to the bathroom for a shower, passing Jim's office on the way, where a scared Italian man sat in the chair opposite the mastermind and received more abuse. The sniper rolled his eyes, waved at Jim who waved back briefly before going back to yelling, and went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Taking his sweat-soaked clothes off, he jumped in the shower and washed himself down, humming a tune he couldn't remember the title of.

The client was no longer breathing when he got dried. He was lying limp in a leather chair, a small trickle of blood pouring from his forehead. Sebasatian sighed at Jim, who was standing next to the dead man.

“Couldn't you have killed him _before_ my shower? I'll have to have another shower after doing your bloody dirty work,” he tutted, coming into the room, his hair still damp with shower water. Jim was breathing a little heavier than usual, like he always did after a kill. Barely noticable to strangers, but Sebasatian had noticed the behaviours of the man from being in such close proximity of him for so long.

“Sorry, dear. What can I say? He was fun to shout at,” he was smirking in that way that Seb had also grown fond of without realising. “Anyway, you can sort him out later. Right now, I have something else for you to do.”

“Yeah? And what's that exactly?” The blonde man shook his hair quickly with his hands and looked at him.

“Well, both of us, really. I think it's going to be fun,” he had a glint in his eye that Sebasatian knew meant the best kind of trouble.

 

 **So there they** were, a forty-five minutes later, staring at a man tied to a chair in Moriarty's basement, blood dripping onto his shirt, half unconscious. One of Moriarty's rivals who'd been trying to infiltrate his empire. He had been warned and didn't listen. This was going to be his punishment. He always took the people he dealt with himself, or his 'personal victims' as he liked to call them, down to the basement, to a special room he had.

The criminal and his tiger shared a look of enjoyment for a few moments. They both got off on the pain of others and they didn't have to hide it around each other like they did for the rest of their lives because they knew they felt the same. It was liberating for them both.

The man began to stir and they broke off eye-contact to look at him, “oh, hello there. Wakey- _wakey!_ ” Jim screamed in his ear and laughed as he man grumbled and attempted to lift his head up. James turned to Seb, “get the knife, my dear.”

_His dear._

Seb liked that.

He fetched Jim's favourite knife and handed it to him. He gave him a smile in return, twirling the instrument on the tips of his fingers. It caught the light like the look in his eyes did as he turned back to the condemned man. Sebasatian enjoyed watching him do his work as much as doing it himself. He was ruthless and merciless, yet maticulous and precise. In its own way, it was beautiful. The patterns of streaming blood decorated the body and soon the floor, flowing into the drain put there for that very purpose. The man still made some noise, like a dying animal, incapable of speech or thought. Beyond the point of recovery. He knew it was all too late.

“Should we put him out of his misery? I think he's had enough, don't you?” Jim glanced across at the older man, offering the knife to him. “Together?” He raised an eyebrow in offer, “I know you want in on the fun, you've been dying to take over since I started.”

He gave up trying to hide his grin, and grasped the handle just above where Jim's hand was on it. It felt nice to Sebastian where their skin touched. Jim's hand was soft, barely used. It was obvious he was the boss. That he didn't get his hands dirty. With the exception of times like this when he just needed to fulfil the desire of killing. On the other hand, Seb's hands were large an rough. The years of his labour showed through the many lines decorating his appendage.

Together, they plunged the knife into the man's chest, slowly. Together, they cherished the look on his face. Together, they enjoyed the feeling of power over other human beings. Together, they let go of the weapon once he'd taked his final breath.

They stood there in silence, admiring the work, both a little breathless with the adrenaline rush. Then they looked at each other again and smiled the same, wicked smile, laughing quietly. Jim then leaned against the white-tiled wall, dropping the knife to the floor.

“Oh, that was fun,” he chuckled, looking from the ceiling to Seb's eyes.

He smirked, “the best kind.” He then rested against the same wall, a foot away from him, still sniggering. “Oh,” he sighed happily as the rush began to fade, “we have to do that more often.”

“We certainly should,” Moriarty grinned, looking at him every few seconds. The laughter died down into something else. A happy connection layed between the two men as well as something else that neither of them acknowledged. The dark haired man turned to Seb and reached out, running his index finger over the scar running horizontally over his nose, a smile playing on his lips, “will you tell me the stories?” His eyes flickered from the scar to his eyes and back.

Seb shrugged stiffly, uncomfortable from the contact. Or at least he was trying to convince himself he was uncomfortable, “maybe.”

“Can I have a yes, do you think?” His eyes were pleading with him, “I'd really like to know. Please?” He sang the last word, smiling with teeth, as his fingers trailed the scar over his eye gently. The touch was so delicate he could barely feel it, yet the tingle his fingers left behind was electric.

“Well, I can't say no to that. So yes, I'll tell you. Some day.”

“Can it be a bedtime story?” He tilted his head to the side, his eyes wide. Seb swallowed quickly, hoping he wouldn't notice.

“If you want it to be.”

Jim removed his hand and grinned, leaning back. Then, the man's mood changed again, in a split second. His face suddenly dropped and he glanced at the corpse, “sort this out, would you? And the man upstairs.”

And, with that, left.

 


	6. Shapes Under Covers

**A few weeks** later, at 3 in the morning, Seb was asleep. As people generally are at 3 in the morning. But he awoke upon hearing a strange noise. Mind foggy from sleep, he couldn't work out what it was. So his initial reaction was: intruders. He grabbed his gun from his table silently and moved towards the door, edging carefully as his training drilled into him back in the army. The noise was close. It sounded like shuffling? Or maybe something else. He couldn't tell, it was too muffled.

He slowly opened the door and looked around. No one. The noise was louder again. The corrdor was empty, so he quickly made his way into Jim's room because, after all, keeping him safe was always his priority. Gun ready, in case they were already in there, he bust open the door.

No men. No guns. No danger.

Just Jim.

Well, a Jim-shaped lump under the bed. Not lying down, but sat up, knees to his chin. The noise was coming from him.

A sigh escaped his lips before he could stop it and the noise stopped suddenly.

“Seb?” His voice was strained but thick with accent.

“I thought you were a bloody intruder. Are you okay?” He put the gun down on the nearest suitable surface and narrowed his eyes at the shape of the blanket in the middle of the bed.

The shape shook its head.

“What's wrong?” Seb's tone was suddenly soft and full of care, without him intending it to be.

The shape sniffed loudly.

Seb realised that the shape had been crying. Of course. Obvious.

But then he realised that this was Moriarty. _Moriarty_ , for God's sake. The most emotionless maniac anyone could have the misfortune to meet. He didn't cry.

Unsure of what to do for a few seconds, he cleared his throat.

“Is there anything I can do, uh, boss?”

The shoulders of the shape moved up and down and Sebasatian realised that it was sobbing.

The action pulling on the few heartstrings he had remaining, he went and sat down next to it. It sniffed loudly and let out one sob.

“What's wrong, Jim? Eh?” He nudged him in a friendly way, just wanting him to speak. Wanting him to say something. Anything. He wanted him to be okay. After not getting a response, he put his arm around him, without even thinking. The gesture felt right. Jim, still completely wrapped in the quilt, leaned onto and into him immediately. Seb could now feel his sobs; they shook through him and made him want to cry too. He held him to his side, his one hand on his shoulder, the other keeping his supported against the mattress. He wanted to know what was wrong and not out of curiosity. He wanted to know so that he could make it right.

He angled the blob of blanket so it was facing him and then, slowly, peeled away the area where his head was. Jim's tear-stained face with big, watery, brown eyes looked back at him. It held a look he'd never seen before, and one he didn't want to see again. He sniffed and a hand appeared and wiped his nose. Seb's own face softened at the sight of him. He pulled back the bits of blanket serving the purpose of his hood and put his hands on either side of his face, wiping his tears away with his thumbs.

“Tell me what's upset you,” his words were commanding but his voice was tender.

Jim shook his head and hiccuped simultaniously, “w-why should I? You don't h-have to care. I'm not p-paying you to care.”

“No, but you are paying me to keep you happy. And, right now, I don't care about my job. I care about _you_ , as a person and as my friend and I want you to be okay. And in order to make you okay, I need to know what the problem is. Now, tell me, Jim.”

He opened his mouth but no words came out, only a little sigh of emotion. He closed his eyes, causing two tears to roll from them, and then opened them again, looking at Seb directly.

Seeing such a great, strong man in such a weak state made Seb give up trying to get answers. He sighed and wrapped his arms around him. He pulled him close and held the small man to his chest. Jim cried loudly and slipped his hands out from the blanket to claw at Seb's night shirt, which was already wet from his tears.

He cried and cried and Sebasatian just held him, rubbing circular patterns on his back in some attempt to soothe him. It felt nice to have him so near, but he didn't care to think about his own emotions when the man in front of him was so damaged and upset. He was the priority. Above all else.

After Seb had lost track of time, the sobs began to subside and turned to small sniffles. The brown-eyed man stared up at him and sniffed one last time, “tell me the story.”

It would take someone more heartless that Seb to deny his request, so he nodded, “which one?”

“That one,” he pointed to the one over his nose.

“Okay, well,” Seb carefully shifted Jim so they were both more comfortable, and Jim leaned his head on his chest again, “that one was from the war,” he recalled, trying to remember accurately what had happened, “like most of them are. It was from one of my first missions. Yeah, the second one, if I remember correctly. Me and five other guys, Jared, Richard, Ian, Rick and Michael, I think. Pretty sure it was Michael. Anyway, we had been sent to get supplies. Our team was stranded somewhere or other and we'd lost all our backup and most of the ammunition. They sent their best guys to go and get help and necessities. So we walked for miles and miles and miles in the desert. Our radios didn't work and we only had a litre of water between us all. It was days and days we'd walked for in the end. It was hell. The water had gone, the food had gone. We had no hope any more. But we knew that our entire squad would die if we didn't carry on. Ian and Richard, they, uh, they died on the journey. Dehydration. So me and the others carried on. Eventually, we came across what wer thought was help. But it was the wrong sort of help. It was the rebels we were fighting. We were exhausted and on the brink of passing out or even dying. We were in no state to fight, but we somehow managed to kill them. Well, almost all of them. Apart from one. One man, the bugger, he got back up and tried to stab me. I held him back but my teammates were already walking away to get real help. I was weak and I couldn't hold him back for long. He swung his arm up and _hey presto,_ life long scar. Luckily Jared managed to kill him before anything worse happened. We took their supplies and were fuelled enough to get to proper help. We didn't have that many casualties, given the situation. We got off lightly. We did well.”

Jim was snoring lightly on his chest, his mouth slightly drooping on one side. He looked adorable. His arms were weak and barely holding onto him, so Seb kept him close and safe. Like he was meant to do, as his bodyguard.

His face was so peaceful when he was sleeping, if a tad tear-stained. Seb could truly appreciate his beauty from the angle he could see him from. He felt blessed to have such a magnificent man in his arms. But he couldn't help wondering what had happened to make such a tough, emotionless man cry. His mind enterained many, equally disturbing possibilities which he tried to forget about as soon as he'd thought them.

He looked around the room for clues to anything that might have happened to cause his episode. Nothing. It was exactly the same as it was every morning when Seb came to clean it. He couldn't think of what could have triggered it. He just wanted him to be alright. He wanted to fix whatever was wrong.

A light sigh came from the man in his arms and Seb, instinctively, kissed his hair once gently. He wriggled up against him and Seb was starting to feel tired himself. He wasn't sure whether to stay or go. Would Jim flip if he woke up in his arms? Or would he be okay?

Somehow, he couldn't image the latter.

But Jim was so comfortable on him and Seb didn't want him to be alone if he was that upset, so he stayed with him. He wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and held him to his chest, the rhythm of his breathing matching his own. The beat eventually led him into sleep.

 

 **When Sebasatian woke,** he took a few moments to remember why he wasn't in his room. His arms were empty, Jimless. It felt wrong to be without him. He quickly looked around but he was gone. He felt a little pull on his heart but ignored it. Feeling out of place, he got up and went to his own room. He got changed into normal clothes, lighting a cigarette and smoking it as he went downstairs. A deep feeling of dread and anxiety filled him, starting in the pit of his stomach. He knew something was going to happen.

But it didn't.

Jim was in the kitchen, on his laptop doing something or other. He didn't even acknowledge Seb's, “morning.” Blatantly ignored and offended, Seb made himself a coffee, thankful for the loud whirring of the machine as it filled the deafening silence in the room. He leaned against the counter and sipped it even though it was painfully hot.

“Are you okay?” The words slipped out before he could stop them and he instantly hated himself for his lack of self-control.

Jim finally looked in his direction and frowned, “of course, why wouldn't I be?” He looked like he didn't have a clue what he was on about. Surely Seb didn't dream it?

“After, you know, last night,” bile was rising in the taller man's throat and struggled to sound calm.

He stood up and moved to him, “last night?” That look was in his eyes again. Psychotic. Angry. Deadly.

“Y-yeah.”

His hands were suddenly on his throat, squeezing it. Seb's instinct was to push him away, but he didn't. That would make things so much worse. So he just stood there and felt the oxygen draining away slowly.

“Nothing happened last night,” he spoke through his teeth and reminded Seb of an animal about to attack its prey. “Did it?”

He struggled to shake his head, his heart breaking.

“Say it.”

“N-Nothing happened l-last night...” he choked out and air flooded back into him as the criminal let go. He coughed and spluttered and looked at Jim, who was just watching him with a look that he hadn't seen before. Not triumphant, not angry. Something else.

Seb thought that they had shared something. He thought it would mean something. But it didn't. Holding him, comforting him as he cried, telling him a story, sleeping with him in his arms. It meant nothing. And that hurt Sebastian a lot more than being strangled.

 

 **He kept well** out of his way for as long as he could. He wanted to be as far apart from him as possible. His throat stung and there was an overwhelming pain in his chest that got worse each time he thought about what had happened, something he wasn't used to experiencing. Emotional attatchment wasn't something Sebasatian Moran was known for and this justified it for him. Attatchment just leads to hurt.

 _'I'm out working. Take the day off – JM'_ the note by the door read. Seb sighed with both annoyance and relief. He was glad he wouldn't have to spend any more time with him. But he was annoyed at himself for getting so worked up when there was nothing to be afraid of in the end.

He wandered the streets for a while until it got dark. A fairly handsome young man approached him and asked if he wanted a good time.

He was too lonely to say no and was too engrossed in the man to notice that Jim was home, as they stumbled in the house and up the stairs to his room.

Loveless, careless sex didn't get rid of the feeling of deep-rooted sadness inside him. He generously paid the man, who he discovered was called Roy, and then he left.

And he was alone again.

Instead of curling up and crying, as he felt like doing, he just cracked open the minibar and drank his problems away. The alcohol dulled everything, as it always did, but there was still an underlying sadness which he did his best to ignore.

Going downstairs to get himself a sandwich, he was blocked from getting into the kitchen by Jim. His arms were crossed across his chest and he looked annoyed.

“The fuck do you want?” Seb sighed, his words slurring together a little.

“Did I say you could have whores in the house?”

He sighed again, louder, and rolled his eyes, pushing past the smaller man into the room, “you take murderers, torturers, drug dealers, corrupt politicians, brothel owners and fucking terrorists into your little office upstairs and that's _fine._ But if _I_ have _one fucking guy_ around to make myself feel better it's the end of the world?” He ranted, getting the necessary things out for his sandwich and switching the cooker light on so he could see. It was pitch-black out.

“I don’t appreciate you talking to me like that, Moran,” there was a warning in his voice that Seb probably would have picked up on, had he not been so drunk and angry.

“You don't appreciate anything, so that's no fucking surprise, is it?” He put the ham in the buttered bread and cut it in the middle. He bit into it, not caring about anything any more, and swallowed.

“You're a cheeky bastard, aren't you? I should have known that when I hired you.”

“You're just a bastard,” he finished the one half and sighed. His voice was bitter, “just a fucking bastard...”

“Oi. Don't talk like that.”

“Why shouldn't I?” He looked up at him, leaving the other half of his sandwich. “You fucking choked me this morning for checking you were okay. I've been really nice to you, and you've just been-”

“Seb,” he put a finger to his lips, silencing him, “shush. Be quiet. Don't say a thing.”

“Jim, don't-”

“Shush!” He sighed, “shut up.” He let go of him after a moment. He'd changed again. He wasn't angry any more, he was something else, “Seb... yesterday, you called me your friend...” he had a strange look on his face. Unreadable, almost. He looked at the floor, “I've never been called that before... did you mean it?”

“I just – I dunno...” he tried to opperate some form of self-restraint. He knew that his sober-self would hate his drunk-self if he gave anything away, like about how he'd been pretending that the man he'd just slept with was Jim. With no boundaries, like he had when he was drunk, he could say anything. So he went for the aggressive tactic, “I thought _nothing happened last night_ , anyway.” He shot him a look. Jim averted his eyes.

“I'm not good with emotions.”

“No fucking shit,” he scoffed, putting his plate in the sink, making it clatter against the other things, “you're like a machine.”

“I thought you were too.”

“I am.”

“No, you're not. You pretend to be. But you're not.”

Seb narrowed his eyes, “I am emotionless. I don't care about anyone or anything.”

“You cared about me,” his mouth was small, “or at least it felt like you did. I could be wrong. But I'm probably not.”

“What happened to you choking me because I mentioned it? Now you're being a soppy git about it,” rolling his eyes, he walked straight past Jim and to the door, “remember? Nothing happened. I don't know what you're on about.” He slurred and left him, going to bed.

 


	7. Complications and Miscommunications

“Now you're sober, I hope we can have a decent coversation.”

Those were the words Sebasatian woke up to the next day.

He groaned loudly and hid himself under the blankets, “bugger off, Jim. Seriously. Go.”

“We need to talk.”

“No, we do not. Leave,” he growled, “now. I'm sleeping.”

“No, you're talking and you're awake and we need to chat.”

“...fine. We talk like this.”

“I need to look at you,” he grabbed the blanket and pulled it down quickly so that he could see Seb's face, which was grimacing at the light. “I need you to tell me something.”

“Will you leave then?”

“Maybe. Seb... am I your friend?”

Seb blinked, “I don't know.”

“Do you care about me?”

“I want you to be alright, yes.”

“Do you- nevermind. Thank you.” Jim got up, making Seb frown. _Does he what?_

“Do I what?”

“Nothing. Thank you for answering. It's just, I've never had anyone call me a friend before and I was wondering if you'd just said it to make me feel better or because it was true...”

“It's true,” he decided suddenly, making Jim's eyes lit up.

“Really? I'm your friend?”

“Yeah, sure, why not?” He smirked, “it's not like I've ever had any proper friends, just guys from the army. And we don't talk any more. So sure. We can be friends.”

“I've never gotten to know anyone really...”

Seb pulled a face of amusement and tease, “is this the infamous Moriarty opening up about something? Good lord, I don't know who to call – the papers or the doctor?”

“Shut up,” he chuckled, shuffling himself next to him so that he was leaning on the headboard like Seb was. “Sorry for being such a dick yesterday... you know what I can be like.”

“It's alright. Don't worry about it.”

There was a silence, not an awkward one. Just a silence.

“I liked your story, by the way. I didn't get the chance to say.”

“I thought you missed it.”

“I caught most of it,” he glanced across at him cheekily, “but you are _very_ comfortable to sleep on. I'd like to do it again sometime.”

Seb's heart literally skipped a beat and he nodded after a moment, “if-if you want to.”

Jim sniggered, “uncomfortable, colonel?”

Of course. One of his bloody psychological tests. A trick. Nothing more. And Seb had bloody fallen for it.

He forced a laugh, “prick.”

Then Jim's head was leaning on his shoulder, “you _are_ comfy though.”

Seb wasn't sure if it was real or not, but he wanted to pretend that it was. He knew that the only sort of affection he would ever have from Jim would be in his mind, so he took this opportunity to imagine. He leaned his own head on Jim's and they stayed there for a while.

The feeling of his soft hair against his cheek, images ran through his mind of his cheeky smile and psychotic laugh. The twinkle in his eyes and the darkness of them too, both equally attractive. The way he kept him on his toes with his mood swings. How he was so dangerous, but Seb couldn't get enough.

_Damnit, I'm in love with the bastard._

He realised suddenly, tensing up. Jim looked over at him.

“You okay there?”

He stared at him, his mouth open slightly, “y-yeah. I'm okay. I'm good. I'm-yeah.”

Jim smiled a toothy smile, “good.”

He loved him. Sebastian loved Jim. Moran loved Moriarty.

But there was something he knew. He knew that Moriarty could never love Moran.

 

 **He did his** best to ignore his feelings. He tried to avoid emotional topics, which wasn't very hard given that they never occurred, and resorted to locking himself in his room when he was drunk as so not to give anything away.

A year went by, but it felt so quick. A year of being at his side, a year of danger, a year of adventure, a year of Moriarty. Just him and Jim.

Word had obviously got out by that point. People knew that Moran was working for Moriarty and it benefitted the duo. Sebasatian stood at his side, gun in hand, as Jim intimidated his clients. He knew he would protect him no matter what. They worked well together, terrifying the nation. Criminal classes did as they were told, because no one wanted to provoke the two most dangerous men in London.

Jim Moriarty, the consulting criminal mastermind. Sebasatian Moran, the best sniper the world had seen.

No one messed with them.

But Seb found it hard. When they were working, torturing, or killing, it was easier. He could forget about his feelings when he was busy. But when they got home and ate their food together, generally in silence, he couldn't stop the thoughts flooding in. His eyes would wander to Jim and stay there as he appreciated his beauty and prayed he wouldn't notice. Or maybe he did want him to notice. Maybe it would make things easier. But probably not.

He found him most beautiful when he was killing. Jim made it seem like an art. Seb got to lean back and watch it all play out, a smile on his face. Jim would circle his prey, growling at them, before attacking slowly and mercilessly. Then his orders would come and Seb would get to take part, doing whatever his boss ordered, and would be smirking as he did it. A kick here, a slap there, building up to something so much more satisfying. He didn't care what he had to do so long as it pleased his boss. He loved seeing the small smile on his lips, showing how he was happy with his tiger's work.

They always finished them off together, one hand from each of them on the knife.

Seb imagined them doing it as a couple. He imagined them killing together, one hand on the knife and the other on the small of Jim's back. He daydreamed about how happy he would be. But that's all it ever was. A daydream. He knew that Jim would never ever feel that way about him.

He spoke to Jim as little as he could, not to be rude, just to avoid all the things he wanted to say to him. It was painful to avoid him so much, but he didn't want to give anything away. He didn't want to destroy what they had. Whatever the hell that was.

He couldn't help feeling a deep heartache when he saw strangers sleeping in Jim's bed when he came to clean it in the morning. Jim was never with them at that point but it was obvious that he had been for the best part of the night. It upset Seb, why couldn't it be him waking up there? He wanted nothing more. But, instead, he just opened the curtains and dusted and got on with his day, the feeling of hurt eventually disintegrating to nothing as the hours trickled away. They were always beautiful, the men and women he had there, like supermodels. But never the same one twice.

Of course, neither of the men mentioned Jim's guests, but Jim was always a little off the next day. Seb, on the other hand, didn't have anyone around since the incident. If he had the urge, he'd go to their place. Never his.

He couldn't help it. He still pretended they were Jim.

 

 **“Look at this** guy, Seb! I bloody hate him, just look.”

Jim was pointing to a grainy image on a computer screen. CCTV camera footage of London's busiest street.

“Who?” Seb squinted.

“Him!” He jabbed at the face of one of the pedestrians. A black-haired man. Tall. There wasn't enough detail to see anything more.

“Why do you hate him?”

“He's taking my clients off me,” he sulked, sighing and tucking his knees up. “Putting them in jail.”

“Oh dear. Well, what are you gonna do?”

“Dunno...” Seb could sense that he was about to have another mood swing. “Destroy him, I guess.” He didn't sound as enthusiastic as he usually did about that kind of thing. Seb frowned.

“Who is he?”

“Sherlock Holmes.”

“Holmes? Like Mycroft?”

He looked at him. Seb had his hand on the back of Jim's chair, his fingers making contact with his suit. He nodded, “just so.”

“Well, I'm sure there's loads you could do, right? I mean, Mycroft could be a good way to get him. What is he, his brother?”

“Sherlock is the younger brother, yeah.”

“Come on, Jim,” Seb hit his shoulder playfully, “cheer up. There's room for lots of fun games here. Be creative, don't sulk.”

Jim sighed dramatically and threw his head back, turning the screen off without looking at it, “Sebby...”

“Sebby? Is that what you're calling me now?” The blonde furrowed his eyebrows but there was a smile playing on his lips.

“Sebby, I'm bored,” the younger man's eyes were directly below Seb's. He was looking up at him, his head tilted back so that it was horizontal.

Sebasatian could think of a few things to ease his boredom.

His eyes kept drifting between Jim's eyes and his lips. He couldn't help it. He was at such a kissable angle. It took every inch of restraint for him not to do anything he would regret. He quickly pondered about how it would feel, his lips against his. They would be soft, that was obvious. Would they kiss back, or stay still? Would he push him away, or would he embrace it? Seb didn't know.

And he wouldn't find out.

“Do something then.” He looked away, trying not to look at his lips again. He couldn't be caught now. He didn't want to explain. Ever.

“What though? _God_ , I'm so _bored_! Seb! Why am I not bloody dead already? For God's _sake._ I've tried enough.” He growled, squeezing his eyes shut. This made Seb worry.

“What do you mean, tried?”

He sighed in response.

“Jim, tell me!” He put his hands on his shoulders and pushed him a little. “You surely haven't-?”

He opened his eyes and looked at him with disdain, “tried to kill myself?”

“You haven't.”

His eyes rolled, “of course I have.”

“Bu-But why? Why you? I mean, you're so-” he couldn't even find the words. He could never imagine Jim trying that. He didn't want to think about it. The whole idea of it repelled him.

“So what? I told you I'm not interested in life, Seb, it bores me. I see no point. In any of it. I thought that was obvious.”

“I-I just-”

“Just what? Are you really that naïve, Seb?” He gave him a piercing look that Sebasatian wouldn't forget for a very long time. He felt that familiar ache in his chest again, like he had when he saw the people in Jim's bed. He looked away, not wanting to show his weakness. “I mean, where did you think I'd gotten these from? I know you've seen them.”

He pulled up his sleeve to reveal what his sniper had seen before, a few times: two horizontal scars on his pale wrist. Of course. It was obvious. But Seb had never even entertained the possibility before. He bit his lower lip to stop the tears.

He couldn't stop himself from thinking about when that had happened. He pictured Jim, sat alone in an empty room, holding a blade to his wrist, his hands shaking. A few tears would roll down his face and he'd let out a sob that no one would hear. Then, gritting his teeth, he'd drag the weapon across. Once, then twice. He'd cry out. He'd fall back onto the floor, clutching at the wound, blood pouring out. Who would find him? Who would save him? Who could possibly care enough about James Moriarty to bring him back from the edge of death?

Seb didn't know and didn't want to find out. He never wanted to think about that again.

“Come on, Sebasatian. You _know_ they weren't an accident.” He was so flippant about it, it made Seb angry.

“You are such a-”

“Such a what?” His eyes were narrowed at him.

“Such an amazing person. You're the best person I've ever met. The cleverest. The bravest. The most – the most everything! Just the best. And you'd throw it all away? Just like that? Like you're nothing?” There were tears brimming inside him and threatened to spill out any second, but he didn't care any more. “The way you talk about it... like you don't see it as anything important. Well it is!”

Jim turned himself around and sat up. He leaned up so he was face-to-face with him, “is it?”

“It is to me,” Seb's voice was quieter as a salty tear travelled down his cheek.

Jim frowned at him, tilting his head to the side as he analysed him, “you care.”

“Of course I bloody care,” he wiped his eyes, sniffing once loudly.

“Why?”

He stared at him. He couldn't tell him. No. Never. He'd already decided that. Jim would never, ever find out. Ever.

“I don't know, maybe I have a soft spot for madmen,” he lifted a shoulder.

“Don't cry over what's happened. It's over. It can't be changed.”

“You talk like you'd do it again.”

“That's because I would. But just because I _would_ , doesn't mean I _will_. So don't worry yourself, Sebby,” his expression was soft, kind, something Seb wasn't used to seeing. It took him back for a moment.

“Promise? Do you promise me?”

The shorter man leaned up and wiped away him tears with his thumbs, his hands wrapped around the sides of his face, “I promise, Sebasatian.” His skin tingled where he was touching it and his heart sped up. His dark, dark eyes burned into his and time just slowed for a while. The feeling of sadness lifted into elation as he gazed at this beautiful man in front of him. He loved him. He loved him so much it couldn't be ignored much longer. Everything about the man intoxicated him. Everything from the little lump under his right eye, to the way he smiled as he killed. Everything. Sebastian wanted nothing more than to tell him. Nothing more than to be able to snuggle down with him at the end of a hard day's work, and have him fall asleep in his arms. He wanted nothing more than to have to carry him up to bed, lay him down, kiss his forehead, and sleep next to him. It broke him to think that he'd never have that.

But all those doubts and unachievable dreams faded away as he looked into his eyes. Everything just fell away.

He let go and the moment ended. Seb wondered if it was the same for him, or if it was all just in his head. He feared that it was.

“I fancy a drink, don't you?” Jim said suddenly, his voice feeling too loud compared to the quiet of what they'd just shared.

“Yeah sure,” he wasn't sure how he got his voice to sound so calm. “A drink.”

“C'mon,” Jim got up and went into the lounge, followed by Seb. “G and T?”

“Sounds good, yeah,” his mind was swimming but he kept up appearances by leaning against the wall and acting as casual as he could. He closed his eyes for a moment and pushed the thoughts away, promising to think about everything later, when he was in bed.

But he dreaded getting drunk. He did and said anything when he was drunk.

Jim handed him a glass and they clinked, “to life.”

“To life,” Seb repeated, nodding, and they both drank. This was where it all started.

 


	8. The Question Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE MOST ADORABLE THING EVER

**If you were** to ask them, neither of them could tell you how or why they ended up playing they Question Game. They were sat on the sofa, Seb on the left, Jim on the right. Seb had his phone out, with a game app. It generated random questions for each person to answer honestly. It was meant to be an ice-breaker. If you were caught lying, there would be a penalty of having to take off an item of clothing. For some reason, that was always the penalty in truth games. Of course, neither of them, if they were sober, would even consider playing the game. But, being drunk, it seemed like an excellent idea.

“Okay, question one...” Seb squinted to read the font, “what's your spirit animal?”

“The bloody hell is a spirit animal?” Jim sniggered drunkly, pushing loud air out of his nose.

Seb shrugged, “some animal you relate to?”

“Hm.... a magpie.”

“Why?”

“They steal things. And they look cool. What about you?”

“A tiger, obviously,” he grinned, putting his hand up like a paw and roaring like a tiger. They both laughed. “I disagree with magpie, by the way.”

“Yeah? What would you say my 'spirit animal' is?” He used air quotes with one hand, the other holding a large gin and tonic.

“A kitten.”

Jim burst out laughing, “a _kitten_?! How the hell am I like a kitten?!”

“You're all... I dunno. You're like a nasty cat when you work and a timid one when you're home. When you're not strangling me, that is.”

“...okay. Fair point. Next question.” He took a large sip.

He tapped the screen and the next question appeared, “what was your favourite subject at school and why?”

“Science because I like to know how things work. You?”

“PE because I could show off,” he tapped the screen, “first job?”

“Drug dealer.”

“Army cadet. When-” he laughed at the words in front of him even though they weren't that funny, “-When was your first sexual experience?”

“When I was young.”

“When I was... hm, 17,” Seb remembered. “Stupidest thing you've done?”

“That would have to be my first murder.”

“How come?”

“I didn't do it right. I didn't think about it enough, even though I had thought about it every day for a year. I didn't think it through. Too many possibilities to go wrong, you know? It was sloppy. What about you?”

Seb sniggered, “me and some of the guys from the army, we were in this, uh, village-y place and we saw this ice-cream truck on the top of a hill. So we all got together, drunk, and pushed it down the hill. It fell into a church.”

Jim laughed, “oh no! Was there ice-cream still in there?”

Seb nodded, his lips pressed together in a fake sadness, “that was the worst part.”

They both laughed, occasionally hitting each other on the shoulder gently.

“Alright, alright. Next question: what was your childhood like?”

Jim paused for a moment, “not a great one. You?”

“Same here. Tell me the story?”

His head shook, “another day.”

“Okay... another day,” this made him sober up slightly, so took another swig. He wanted to forget. “Want some whiskey?”

“Hm... sure,” he nodded and held his empty glass out for Seb to pour some in it and his own. They both drank. They both needed rid of what had just briefly resurfaced. “Next one?”

Seb snickered, “are you religious?”

“No,” they said at the same time, looking each other in the eye with a look of disdain, before laughing loudly.

“If you're in a relationship, who do you fancy outside of it? If you're not, who do you have a crush on?” Seb read, having flicked over to the next one.

Jim screwed his face up in disgust, “I don't _do_ crushes.”

“Hm...” he narrowed his eyes. Jim grinned and nudged him.

“Ooh, do you? Who is it? Is it that guy from that p-place, what's it called? The pub down the road, you know...”

“Mike?! No!” Seb laughed. “No, I don't like him. Not one bit. He's an arrogant sod anyway.”

“Not him... who then?”

Seb just smiled, “not telling.”

“I call penalty!” He shouted suddenly, giggling. “Off with an item of clothing! Off!” Jim was drunker than he had been for a _very_ long time. Seb sighed begrudgingly and took off a sock, as Jim chanted, “off off off!” He threw it and it hit the side of the coffee table and slumped to the floor, looking sorry for itself.

Sebastian went to the next one, “favourite food?”

“Boring. Skip it.”

“I'll skip if you take a sock off.”

“Fine...” Jim leaned down and took one off, as Seb hummed the stripper's tune. They both laughed.

“Fondest memory?”

“I don't have one.”

Emotions hightened by alcohol, Seb opened his mouth in genuine shock and horror, “what?” His voice was quiet and sad, filled with sympathy.

“I don't have one,” he shrugged and then paused, “is that bad?”

He nodded slowly, “yes. Yes! That's awful! Jimmy!” He leaned across and hugged him. Jim didn't hug back, or, at least, not for a few seconds. Then he found that he couldn't help himself, and his hands wrapped around his back. A hug was something he hadn't experienced since he was exactly 11. His 11th birthday was the last hug, he remembered it distinctively. This hug with Sebastian felt nice, caring. So different to the physical contact he'd have with the strangers he bedded, that was always quick and rushed and emotionless. This was different. He could feel how much Seb cared, just through the feel of his arms on his back, and his head on his shoulder, “you need happy times... everyone needs happy times.”

“I-I'm starting to think that I've got one. This. Now. This is a happy time.”

He pulled away after a further few seconds, and smiled, “good. I hope there will be more.”

“I think there will,” they smiled meekly at each other for a moment before Jim said, “now, you didn't answer. Fondest memory?”

“Being promoted to colonel. We all got drunk after, it was great.”

He wished he could say something better but he couldn't. That _was_ his fondest memory.

“Right... ooh, first relationship?”

“Never had one. Ever. And I pride myself on it.”

“What, really? Never?”

“Nope. Relationships disgust me. They don't make sense.”

Seb was too drunk to figure out why that made his chest hurt so he just nodded, “mine was when I was 16.”

“Boy or girl?”

“Boy.”

“Why did you split up?”

“My father.”

“I see.”

Seb took another big gulp of his drink and poured some more for himself, forgetting to be polite enough to offer Jim some. “Right, let's get on with-with this game thing,” he slurred, “how many people have you – God, why are they all about sex?!”

“Did you get the adult version?”

“Well, yeah. We're adults.”

They both found this hilariously funny.

“Well, I've had sex with... 43 people to date.”

“ _43_?! Jesus. I've had... 16 people. I think. 16 sounds about right. Can I ask, did you know any of yours properly?”

Jim shook his head, drinking, “I make a point not to know their names. Of course, it's a little difficult when they're _classy_ enough to have it tattooed on their back.”

Seb leaned back and put his head on Jim's shoulder, without a real reason why. Jim didn't push him away, he quite liked him there.

“Okay... something you've never told anyone before?”

“Uh... do I have to?”

“Well, do you want to make your left foot cold too?”

“Fine. I'm afraid of the dark.”

Seb's eyes widened, “what, really?”

“Yeah... that's why there's a nightlight in my room,” he looked away, clearly ashamed of what he'd just spoken.

“Oh... I didn't know. Wow.”

“Your turn,” Jim wanted to be off that subject as quickly as he could. It wasn't something he was proud of.

“Well... when I was younger, I wanted to be a – oh god...” he started sniggering and it took Jim's mind off what he was trying to forget.

“A what? Come on, you can tell me. Seb! Tell me!” He nudged him and Seb's head straightened up so it was no longer on his shoulder.

“I wanted to be a ballet dancer,” he admitted, giggling, “unti l I was 9 and my father put me off the idea, saying it was a 'queer man's aspiration' or something.” The giggles faded. “He was a dick.”

There was a pause before Jim gasped, “you cheated! Penalty!”

“What? No I didn't!”

“Yes! 'Something you haven't told anyone!' You told your father. Therefore you didn't answer the question. Off with a sock!”

He took one off and threw it at Jim. It landed on his face and slid into his glass before he could stop it. This sent them both into hysterics that lasted for minutes and minutes.

When they managed to calm down, Jim grabbed Seb's drink off him and guzzled it down. “Why'd you do that? I was enjoying that!” Seb protested, now drinkless.

Jim shrugged, “I lost my drink so you lost yours. Only fair.”

“Bastard,” he said but didn't mean it. He was smirking. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey and drank straight from it.

“Oi! Don't put your mouth on that, we're sharing that!”

“Mmmmhhh-” Seb made an unnecessarily loud noise as he licked around the rim of the bottle, just to annoy him. “Mine.”

Jim put the glass down and grabbed the bottle. He drank straight from it.

“Ew, that had my spit all over it. That's disgusting.”

“You're disgusting.”

They laughed.

Neither of them could remember the last time they'd laughed so much before that night. Not genuine laughter, not like what they were experiencing then. And God, did it feel good.

“Right...” he tapped for the next question and frowned, “I'm not reading that! That's horrible!”

Jim read over his shoulder at the, frankly, explicit question and nodded, “skip it.”

Seb tapped, “okay, this one's better. Guilty pleasure?”

“Hm... that would have to be dancing. I bloody love dancing.”

“Ooh, show me!” Seb sat up with enthusiasm, “show me!”

He narrowed his eyes, “only if you dance with me. Show me the ballet, Moran.”

“Agreed. Deal.”

Seb got up and held his hand out, Jim taking it. He pulled him up and they stood in the center of the room, still holding hands. They both giggled, because it was funny and because they were a little nervous.

After a minute or so of, “put you hand there,” and, “no, _I'm_ the lady! You put your hand on there!”, they finally decided on a dancing position. It was the closest they'd been since the night Jim cried.

The moved in time to music that wasn't playing, apart from Jim humming something neither of them could distinguish, which could barely pass as music. They managed not to step on each other, but had a few near misses as time went on. Seb couldn't stop looking at him. His eyes wandered to each an every feature on his face. He had a good view of everything from that close.

Jim whispered, putting his head on Seb's shoulder, his face in his neck, “what's your guilty pleasure?”

It slipped out before he could stop it.

“You.”

Jim missed a beat and trod on Seb's toe. Seb hissed in pain but neither of them said a word, just carried on dancing, falling back into a rhythm. Jim didn't question what he said, he didn't comment. He said nothing. Seb's heart was beating faster than usual and he knew Jim would be able to hear and feel it, with his head where it was. His hair was soft and ticklish on his cheek and he liked it. His breath was warm against his skin and it felt right. His hands were firm on his waist and he wanted them there.

They danced for what felt like an hour, but neither of them got bored or tired of it. It was silent, apart from Jim's tuneless humming, which resonated through Seb and into his ear. It made him want to shiver but he held back.

Eventually, Jim spoke up, “we should do the next question.”

“Make it the last question?” Seb mumbled into Jim's hair, which smelled of his coconut shampoo.

“Yeah...”

He released one hand off Jim, which he really didn't enjoy having to do, and reached into his back pocket for his phone. He tapped once.

“What's your biggest secret?” He read.

The men stopped moving, but kept their position. Each contemplated telling the other. Seb contemplated _which_ secret he would even tell. He couldn't decide. Both were bad and very much secret.

Seb felt Jim's head shake on his shoulder, making the hair move and tickle him even more, “I'm not saying.”

“Neither am I,” Seb agreed. It was best that way. He put his phone back and returned his hand to its original position on the man he secretly loved. He felt the sadness radiating off Jim and, out of instinct just like before, he kissed his hair once. Softly, but it made a slightly noise when he pulled away. He rested his head on Jim's straight after. Jim smiled faintly, though Seb couldn't see from all the hair in the way. Seb loved having him so close. It felt more right than anything he'd ever had.

“It's late...” Jim hummed.

“It is.”

“We should sleep.”

“We should.”

The both, as much as they didn't want to and immediately felt awful, pulled away. But their hands remained.

“My light broke,” Jim admitted. “I didn't get chance to get another one.”

“You can turn the lamp on. Come on,” Seb shifted his hand from his waist and around his shoulders. Jim slipped his arm down and around Seb's waist. “I'll put you to bed. Make sure there's no monsters in the closet.”

Jim leaned on him and smiled a small smile in response as they walked up the stairs, arms all over each other. In Jim's bedroom, he sat down on the edge of it and took his other sock off. He reached under his covers for his boxers and shirt. Seb was in his en-suite, relieving himself, as Jim got changed. Seb washed his hands quickly and Jim was ready for bed.

“Want me to look in the wardrobe and check under the bed?” He teased.

Jim smiled and shook his head, getting under the covers. Seb couldn't help but notice how adorable he looked under there. He smiled at him from the bottom of the bed. He leaned over and switched Jim's lamp on.

“There, safe from the dark now, see?” He smiled at him kindly. “Night, Jim.” He turned the main light out and started to leave.

“Seb?” His favourite voice in all the world called him back. He stopped immediately and turned to him, having not really wanting to leave him in the first place.

“Yes?”

“Can you – can you stay? Just for tonight. Don't ask why, just – just trust me, okay? Please?” He pulled a face that no man could possibly say no to. So Seb smiled and nodded, walking back over to the other side of the bed. He felt weird. The last time he was in that bed, he was holding Jim as he cried.

“Whatever you want, boss,” he threw the covers over himself. It felt really strange. Jim was lying down next to him, head tilted so it was almost facing the pillow. He had a funny sleeping position, with his limbs going everywhere. Seb wondered how on earth he could be comfortable like that.

Seb made himself comfy, facing Jim on purpose just so he could admire him. They looked at each other, dimly lit by the light in the other corner of the room.

“Thank you, Seb.”

“What for?”

He smiled fondly, “memories.”

There was a brief pause and then Seb kissed his forehead. Just once, like the other times. But it felt different. He kissed his skin this time. It felt soft and warm and tasted a little salty. They both closed their eyes, “it's alright.”

Seb wondered what it would be like in the morning. Would he be like this – or would he be hostile like before when they shared a moment? Would things change or stay the same? And if they did change, would it be for the better or for worse? He pushed the thoughts away, deciding to embrace the moment and just to live in it. He didn't care about anything else, just the Jim that was in front of him, weak and vunerable. He had told him so much. They had both confessed a lot and Seb's head was swimming with so much to think about. He pulled away from Jim and lay his head on the pillow. Their foreheads touched so that, even when they closed their eyes, they knew that it was real, that they wouldn't wake up once again in a lonely bed like they always did.

“It's not so scary now you're here,” Jim whispered and, in the darkness of their closed eyes, his hand found Seb's under the covers. He let out a silent gasp and then smiled. Jim's hand was a lot smaller than his own. It was soft and unused. It felt nice against his. He squeezed it gently once and they smiled. This was, undeniably, the most intimate and caring experiences either of them had ever had the pleasure of experiencing. So different to the quick loveless initmacy they had aclimatised to.

“Can I ask... why does the dark scare you?” Seb's voice was gentle, probing.

There was a pause before Jim answered with: “because bad things come in the dark.”

He frowned but Jim couldn't see it, “I'll get rid of it. I'm here. I'll protect you from it.” _Whatever it is_ , he added in his head.

“I know you will,” Jim nodded. Their fingers were laced together. Seb's thumb was rubbing back and forth on the upperside of Jim's hand in little circles. Jim was smiling. “I know you will, Seb.”

“I don't want today to end,” Seb announced suddenly.

“Technically, it did an hour ago. It's 1am.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes... I do,” Jim admitted softly, enjoying the motion Seb was doing on his hand. With his eyelids shut, it was pitch-black but he still wasn't scared like he usually was. He wasn't waiting for something to come and get him, to creep up and hurt him. And it must have been because Sebastian was there. He made it go away, all his irrational fears, his terror. It all just went. And he didn't want to have to feel them ever again. This was the first time he could remember for a long time that he wasn't terrified under the covers and he couldn't bare the thought of having to feel it again.

“But it has to end, doesn't it?”

He nodded slowly, “it does.” Their foreheads were still touching and they squeezed each other's hands gently every other second for a while. They were both exhausted and beyond drunk. They needed to sleep. They stopped the motion, but still kept their hands together, not able to imagine what it would feel like if they weren't.

“Goodnight, Jim...”

“Goodnight, tiger.”

 


	9. And The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MAJOR BREAKTHROUGH!!

**Light was streaming** in through the thin curtains, illuminating the duo. They were both in the place somewhere between deep sleep and being awake, not wanting to move for the fear of waking the other and destroying the moment. What were previously strongly-held hands, were now loosely joined. They faced opposite directions, but they managed to still keep their hands held, even when they were asleep they needed the contact. Jim was the first to move, briefly squeezing Seb's hand before detaching himself and sitting up.

Seb murmured, his eyes flickering open and Jim groaned, rubbing his forehead to ease the hangover headache that he wasn't used to. It had been years since he'd drank to that extent. Seb twisted himself around to look at him, “mh, morning.”

He didn't look back and just grunted in response. Seb frowned, sensing that it wasn't going to be the romantic morning he was hoping for. So he just admired to view of Jim's back, with his t-shirt that had shifted up his torso slightly, revealing some skin that Seb was only too happy to gaze at for a while. His dark hair was messy from sleep, sticking out in all directions, making him smile. He looked so normal like this, so ordinary. He could pass for anyone from that angle. He was rubbing his forehead and between his eyes, clearly suffering from a headache.

The lamp was still on by the door and Jim reached to turn it off, sighing. Seb sat up, feeling a little out of place and more than a little awkward. He wanted to break the silence but didn't dare. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and ran his hands through his hair.

“Do you want coffee?” He asked, getting fed up of the atmosphere in the room.

“Yeah, ta, and some painkillers if you can find them. They might be in the bathroom, actually...”

“Back in a minute,” he nodded, patting Jim's shoulder once and leaving to make the beverages. Upon getting to the kitchen and putting the kettle on, he sighed loudly and rubbed his eyes. His mind was both racing and completely still. He wasn't sure what to make of everything. He wasn't entirely sure how much he'd told Jim and the same the other way. Only faint details and emotions came to his memory. He poured the coffees and looked for painkillers in the cupboard but didn't find any. He took the mugs upstairs to Jim, who was still rubbing his face in various places and generally just looking like he was in pain. He couldn't help smiling at him, “not much of the drinker, eh?” He held the coffee out to him. Jim looked up and took it after a moment.

“Thanks. And no, I haven't drank for years... don't know why I suggested it,” the regret was obvious in his voice as he sipped on it.

“I'll find something for the headache now,” Seb went into the en-suite and opened the mirrored cupboard above the sink, assuming that was the place it would be. There were lots of pills there, things he didn't recognise as household things. He frowned, reading some of the labels. 'Moriarty, James. Chlorpromazine,' 'Moriarty, James. Olanzapine.' They were prescription. He didn't know what they were or what they did but they sounded scary and serious. He never knew he was ill, he didn't seem it.

Swallowing his worry, he searched for and found ordinary painkillers and brought them to Jim. He looked at him differently, this man was more damaged than he ever knew, and there was still a lot that he didn't know. He sensed that he could just see the tip of the iceberg.

Jim was too hungover to bother noting that Seb went into that cupboard, so just took the pills and thanked him. Seb sat next to him and sipped his own drink. They both sat there, in silence apart from the occasional loud sip and Seb's leg tremor rubbing on the carpet. The atmosphere between them was different to what it had ever been before and neither could tell if it was better or worse.

“What's the plan for today, then?” Seb asked, his voice quieter than usual, getting fed up with the silence.

“Fuck all, if this headache continues,” he sniggered, finally looking across at Seb and smiling at him. His head was resting on his hand and his eyes were glinting. He looked beautiful.

“They'll kick in soon. Stop being a pussy.”

“Just cause you drink all the time, you're used to it.”

“Exactly. And this is the only time it's a positive thing, so do forgive me for rubbing it in but I'd be an idiot to pass up the opportunity.”

They both grinned and then a phone pinged. It was Jim's, lighting up on the bedside table. He sighed like a stroppy child.

“I don't have any other friends so I'm _not_ bothered by people yet I _still_ get texts at too-early o'clock in the morning...” He pouted, grabbing the mobile aggressively and checking it. Seb couldn't read it from his angle, but could tell it wasn't good news from Jim exclaiming, “the bastard!”

“What?”

“That bloody Holmes guy got my taxi-Nazi killed.”

Seb couldn't help chuckling at the nickname.

Then he lifted a shoulder, putting his phone down, “oh well. I have plenty of other things going on. He wasn't much in the grand scheme of things, was he?”

“I wouldn't worry,” Seb nodded, standing up, “I mean, I'm surprised he lasted this long, to be honest. Anyway, he was just eating into your bank account. Come on, let's do something bad. Let's... I dunno. Let's just do something. Come on,” he grabbed his arm and pulled him up with him.

This was the only thing to make his eyes light up, “sounds good to me.”

 

 **“A warning. That's** what he needs, just a warning to back off,” Jim was sat upside down on the sofa, with his feet where his head should be. His hands were in front of him, holding his mobile up. Seb just stood there, watching him in amusement. “If I-yeah... I'll give him a case, he likes them. What can I do?” His eyes tilted back, along with his head, to look at Seb, who shrugged.

“Well, you want it to be different, right? So, make it personal.”

“Hm, personal... yeah.But not too personal.”

“Are you going to meet him?”

“I don't know,” the cogs in Jim's brain were moving and Seb was sure he could see them. “Wait!” He gasped as the cogs finally did their job. He quickly flipped himself back upright and put his phone down a little too enthusiastically, causing it to smash onto the floor. He didn't care, obviously. “I've got it.”

“Well, spill then. Don't keep me in suspense, boss.”

He grinned at him, “Carl. Carl Powers.”

“I'm supposed to know who that is?”

Jim was in one of his happy, elated moods. He tapped the seat next to him, “sit down. Let me tell you a story.”

He sat down next to him and Jim moved, full of energy, so he was facing him, with his legs crossed like a child. Seb mirrored him, wanting to tag onto his good mood. He knew it would come crashing down later so wanted to get the most out of it while he could.

“Tell me, then.”

“Well, when I was 11, there was this kid in my school. His name was Carl and he was a dick. He picked on me and made fun of me. After he did, everyone called me gay and laughed at me,” Jim had found himself absent-mindedly playing with the rips on Seb's jeans, picking at the cotton until it frayed. “so I killed him. I thought it was well thought-out at the time, but it wasn't. I slipped poison into his eczema pills and he had a seizure when he was swimming. He drowned. The police suspected nothing, of course. But someone knew. There was someone who, I discovered years later, had rang into the police no less than fourteen times saying that the death was suspicious. They didn't follow it up, he was just a kid. But I was clumsy. Anyway, turns out, after getting in touch with some people, that the kid was actually Sherlock Holmes.”

“Woah, coincidence,” Seb raised an eyebrow.

“I know right. Doesn't that seem personal enough?”

“It's a great idea, great story. Something to tell the grandkids and all, but how are you going to bring it up? Just pop around and be like, 'oh, hey, you remember that drowned kid? Yeah that was me.'”

“Well, no, obviously not. Luckily for me, I used to be obsessive and I kept a little momento...” he thought as he spoke. He got up suddenly and rushed off. Seb couldn't be bothered to follow him, figuring he would come back in a moment, which he did, holding a pair of white trainers through white latex gloves. “ _These_.”

“What are they?”

“Carl's shoes. His precious shoes, he was known for them throughout the whole school. If I send these to Sherlock... he can try and figure it out. Then we can arrange a _meeting_ , per say, and I can give him a final warning to back off.”

“Great idea, boss,” Seb nodded and smiled. “Sounds good to me.”

“So, just keep an eye on him, alright? See what he's doing. Keep me updated, okay?”

He nodded again, “sure. I'll keep you posted.” He was smirking at the sight of a gloved Moriarty holding someone else's shoes and looking generally uncomfortable with them. “Are you going to keep holding them?”

He sneered at him jokingly and went to put them away.

 

 **Jim had requested** that Seb stayed with him every night, until he fell asleep. He wouldn't tell him why, he just insisted on it and, of course, Seb didn't turn him down. He was more than happy to be with him for as long he could. He was more than happy to keep up his mental illusion that they were in a relationship and it was getting increasingly easier to convince himself that they were. He always left, though, once Jim was asleep. He'd admire him for a while, until it felt too invasive and then he'd go back to his own room, his mind racing. He'd think everything over, daydream, and he'd wish and wish before he fell asleep that he could make them real, that one day they'd be more than a desperate man's fantasy.

Jim decided to put the Carl Powers Plan into action when Sherlock had dismantled a smuggling trade he'd set up a few years ago.

“I'm not putting up with this, he's getting in my bloody way.”

“Warn him, then.”

“He's bloody stubborn. He won't leave it be, I know he won't.”

“Then make him,” Seb shrugged, looking up at him from his gun which he was polishing. “He's no different to your clients, is he? Scare the shit out of him.”

So they put into place the things they needed in place. Organised a few crimes, killed a few people, semtexed some others. It was all in place, and all the two men had to do was watch them dance.

 

 **They sat in** Jim's office, their two chairs next to each other, squeezed onto one side of the desk so they could both see the laptop. Seb had a large bowl of popcorn in his lap that they both dipped into, watching Sherlock and John run around trying to be good. Jim was leaning on Seb's shoulder, like he did often. They didn't have to do anything, except Jim had to occasionally type some threatening things into a mobile, which sent it to his “voices.” Seb was going to go and kidnap them, but Jim didn't want him to go. He wanted him to watch it with him, which touched Seb a little. He wasn't used to him being so clingy, but he liked it.

“Don't you think they should get together?” Jim perked up, pointing at the pair on CCTV footage.

“Aren't they already? I thought they were.”

“Nope, they're in denial.”

They smiled at each other and Jim grabbed a handful of popcorn.

“So when are you meeting him?”

“When he solves this, probably. He'll put a message out. It's so funny, he thinks I want those missile plans.”

“You already have them. Is he really that stupid?” Seb sniggered. Jim had gotten them weeks ago and wasn't interested whatsoever. Not his forte.

He shrugged, “apparently so.”

Seb looked across at him and grinned, “I'm glad I didn't kill you.”

“Yeah? You are?” He looked different from this angle, his eyes seemed bigger.

“Yeah. My life would be boring if I had.”

“Mine would be too,” a smile was playing on his lips but then it disappeared. “Sebby, I need to tell you something.”

“What's that?” He kept his tone light but he knew something was up.

“This thing, the Sherlock thing, it's probably going to be quite dangerous.”

“So's everything else we do,” he shrugged.

“But this is different. I'm involved in this one. My face will be out there, they'll know me. It's different. This is dangerous. Seb, this might kill me.”

He frowned at him, “no it won't. You're much more than this. Something like this, like _him_ , can't kill _you._ ”

“This meeting might. Trust me. It's dangerous.”

Seb gave up resisting it and put his arm around his shoulder. Jim looked startled but then relaxed into him, “Then make the most of life while you have it then.”

“You know, I just might.”

 

 **Sebastian felt a** little annoyed, like he had been replaced. Or maybe that it was bothering him that he was at all replacable. But then again, this was a special occasion.

Jim was standing there, beside the pool, hands in his pockets looking adorable, yelling at Sherlock. Seb was holding a rifle, pointing at the detective, along with the other snipers around him, who he'd never met before. There were lots of them, but he couldn't count or he'd go off-target and Jim would get angry. He was on edge. Jim's words were rolling around his head, ' _this might kill me, this might kill me._ '

The whole thing played out, which included Jim getting held by John, leading to Seb nearly having a heart attack, and then he left through the door which led to the stairs near where Seb was, by the changing rooms. Seb rushed down to him, his head throbbing. Jim leaned against the wall and looked at him.

He had the grin on his face of a madman, but there was an underlying sadness that only someone who knew him, like Seb, would notice. When he reached him, they were face-to-face. They were both breathing a little heavier than usual. Jim looked beautiful when he was happy. Seb could see the worry in his eyes and it felt... final.

“Seb, this _is_ going to kill me.”

The words he never, ever wanted to hear had just been spoken and he didn't know how the react. His heart was thudding in his chest and he knew, suddenly, what he had to do. He had nothing to lose if Jim was about to die. If he was about to die, there would be no consequences.

So he put his hands on either side of his face, holding him against the wall of the disused changing-room, and pressed his lips against his. He was desperate, but gentle. It felt surreal to finally do it, after dreaming about it for so long. He was so thrilled to even be kissing him in the first place, that he didn't even notice whether or not he was kissing him back. His lips felt soft and warm and just how he thought they would. They tasted how they looked: delicious. He didn't want it to end – it felt too perfect. But it had to. Seb's thumbs stroked the skin back on his cheeks gently and then he pulled away.

He look in his shocked image and whispered, “I love you.”

However, Jim didn't change his mind upon this revelation. His face was blank. He looked away from his eyes and walked back through the doors, into the swimming pool, to his death.

 


	10. His Strange Exception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> awwww

**"Sorry boys, I'm**   _so-o_  changeable!"

His taste was still lingering on Seb's lips. His head was throbbing and his heart was hurting and he didn't know what to do. He just gave a condemned man his last kiss. And he would do anything to ensure that it wasn't the last.

Life without Jim: he couldn't even fathom it. It would be wrong to just go back to the way things used to be; nights alone with only alcohol for company, going for weeks on end without talking to people. A Jimless life was a life not worth living, as far as Sebastian was concerned.

But what if he, by some miracle,  _did_  survive? What then? He didn't say anything to Seb at all. He didn't even seem angry. He didn't seem anything and that was always dangerous. There was no way that he would appreciate Sebastian doing that to him and he knew that. He made a mistake but he was desperate and didn't want him to die without him knowing how he felt. He would regret it for the rest of his life.

But, then again, maybe he would regret it for the rest of his life anyway.

By the time he'd moderately calmed down, he saw the scene by the pool. It was deadly silent. Sherlock was aiming his gun at the bomb. Seb glanced up at where the snipers were: they had all gone. If that bomb blew up, everyone inside would die: John, Sherlock, Jim and himself. At least Seb wouldn't have to cope with being without him. He'd be dead.

He held his breath, like they all were. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Then it wasn't.

It took a few moments for Seb to realise that it was Jim's phone. He let out a half-chuckle of relief. He couldn't make out what was being said, apart from, ' _say that again!_ ' That was all he needed to hear to know that it wasn't good.

He leaned back into the wall and breathed deeply, his vision going a little dizzy. One he'd steadied his mind, he could hear footsteps approaching him. Jim. He inhaled and turned to him.

"Call another time. I'm busy," he spoke sternly into the phone and then hung up, putting it in his pocket. He looked at Seb and he felt his heart break. This wasn't going to be the lover's union he hoped it would be, he could tell from just the look in his eyes.

"I-I'm sorry, Jim, really I am. I know you'll have to fire me now. I'm sorry," he stuttered over his words, feeling like a child, and glued his eyes to the floor in shame. His chest ached deeply and he just wanted to get away.

Silence.

And then laughter. Jim was laughing at him.

Seb looked up in shock and didn't even have time to comprehend that Jim had grabbed him by the back of his hair and was kissing him, up against the wall. His eyes were open for a second or two, from the shock, and then he closed them, realising that it wasn't going to be a quick peck. This was a passionate, earth-shattering embrace that meant more to them than either could have ever imagined. As Jim's fingers tangled in his blonde hair, Seb reached down and held his waist to his own. His lips tasted warmer than earlier and softer, slightly salty too. They'd never experienced such heat, such passion. It was different to being anyone else because they weren't  _with_  just anyone. They were with each other. It was like a barrier between them had been taken down, broken. So many unspoken words were exchanged between their lips. Some things are hard to verbalise, so they didn't say anything. All night.

Sex between them was different too, different to sex with anyone else. Neither of them had ever had sex which had  _meant_  anything, it was always just emotionless. But between the pair, it wasn't any more. This meant something. There was emotion. There was a connection. It felt, as much as it may sound cliché, magical. They couldn't imagine anything else because they never wanted anything else again. They just wanted each other.

 **"I never kiss..."**  Jim's voice was muffled by Sebastian's neck. He was sprawled across the bed, his one leg hanging off it. His arm was resting on Seb's chest and he was laying face-first onto Seb, who didn't want to wake up.

"Hm?" His eyes flickered open sleepily and he looked at the man on his torso.

"I never kiss. I find it disgusting."

He pulled a face and said, with his eyebrows raised, "well, you kissed me. You kissed me a  _lot._ " He smirked and then blushed at the very recent memory.

"I know... you're my  _strange exception_ , I guess," he lifted a shoulder, his face still pressed against his skin. He hadn't moved. His breath tickled Seb but he liked it. He ran his fingers through his dark hair and played with it. Jim found himself chuckling.

"What?"

" _You_ , you silly thing."

"What about me?"

He finally moved to look at him, chin resting on his shoulder, "you thought I'd fire you. You thought I was angry."

"Well... I thought you were. You didn't say anything, you scared me."

"I've always know you've had a massive crush on me, it's been obvious. You  _were_   _trying_  to make it obvious, right?"

Seb shook his head, "no, I was trying to keep it secret."

"Then  _you_ , my dear," he leaned up and rubbed his nose against his, "are a terrible liar." He kissed his lips gently once and smiled at him.

"God it feels great to be able to just, you know, be like this," he grinned and kissed his forehead, "and especially with some as beautiful as you."

"I'm not beautiful," he pulled a face at the word like it was something awful.

"Oh yes you are," Seb grinned, chuckling a little. Then he grabbed him by the waist and flipped him over so Jim was on the bed and he was above him. Jim stared up at him with large eyes and shook his head, "oh yes you are. You are you are you are." He growled playfully as he kissed his neck gently. He held him down carefully and Jim giggled underneath him and squirmed. Seb then had the excellent idea of tickling him.

"No! No no no!" He tried desperately to get away, his pleas laced with laughs. Sebastian stopped for a moment but held his hands close to him as a threat.

"Is the great Moriarty...  _ticklish?_ " Sebastian teased, before simultaniously kissing and tickling him. He squealed and laughed until Seb eventually saw mercy on him and lay next to him. He kissed down his neck and across his chest and his lips until Jim announced begrudgingly that they needed to get on with work.

 **Things were better**  than good. Better than great. Things were perfect. Life couldn't  _be_  better. They had lazy mornings with late breakfasts and sleepy kisses. It was a little bit of normality in their otherwise messed-up lives and they appreciated it. Life was perfect. Until the Woman turned up.

Seb was putting Jim's washing away when he passed his office and saw her. She was wearing a backless dress, which fitted her perfectly. He knew who she was, everyone knew who she was. And Sebastian didn't like how close she was getting to getting to his boyfriend. He quickly dropped the clothes off and listened to them talking from behind the wall by the door.

"So why would you think I care about who you can flirt with?" That was Jim.

"Because," she paused, "I'm the only one who can get to him. And you want to get to him. Let me. I can do it well."

"Hm, I'm  _sure_  you can." That was Jim's flirty voice. Seb felt his heart sink. This couldn't be happening. He bit his lip to stop his tears, "you have a...  _way_  about you."

"Of course I do, Jim, I have to to make my way in the world."

None of his clients called him Jim. Only Seb called him that.

He bit his fist but couldn't stop the sob that slipped from his lips. They stopped talking.

"I think he's been listening." Sebastian hated her voice and he hated her face and her dress and everything about her.

Jim cursed under his breath, "Irene, I want you to leave. I'll be in touch."

"Come on now. Don't be so sentimental. Remember when I used to get you all those pretty people for you to have sex with? I've done you lots of favours. You owe me."

"Irene," he sighed deeply, "if you don't, politely,  _fuck off_  within the next 8 seconds, I will fucking shoot you through the skull and I don't care what you've done for me.  _I will be in touch_. Now leave."

Seb heard the scraping of a chair and then heels. By that point, he was kneeling on the floor, leaning against the wall, tears in his eyes. Irene shot him a look and muttered, "he doesn't love you. He can't." Then she left.

"Sebastian, come here," Jim sounded tired.

"No, fuck you," Seb growled. "I should have known you wouldn't stay like you were. I should have known." He shook his head like he was trying to shake off his stupidity.

Jim sighed and came out to him. He kneeled down beside him, "she doesn't mean anything."

Seb scoffed and then pushed him away from him, "well she does to me!" Jim looked shocked, back against the floor.

"Sebastian, you have to understand – I don't do relationships. I never have before! I don't know what I'm meant to do. I don't know what's acceptable and what's not, I-"

"WELL FUCKING LEARN THEN!" Seb yelled at him and stormed into his room to get his wallet and jacket. Jim sat up and looked at him.

"Where are you going? Don't leave. Please don't leave."

He didn't look at him and carried on down the stairs, "I'm going out. Don't wait up." He slammed the door.

Jim felt something he hadn't felt before, a pain. It hurt his chest and his heart and he wanted it to go away. He wanted to make it better between him and Seb but didn't know how.

As Sebastian spent all the evening and into the night in the pub drinking away his anger and upset, Jim was Googling how to be a good boyfriend. He read up on all he needed to know. Then he found ways to make someone forgive you. So he cooked a meal for them, lasagne, with the help of an internet chef. He set the dining room up with candles and music and nice smells. He wanted to make sure it was perfect. As he was cleaning the kitchen, the door swung open. He turned to him. Seb was drunk, of course.

"Sebby, I'm-" As he started to apologise, Seb came over to him and hugged him hard.

"I forgive you. It's okay." His words may have been slurred, but they had the same effect. Jim smiled and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you. I'm sorry. I'll never be like that again, I've learned. I'm sorry. But I'm going to get it right from now on. I promise," he kissed his hair and pulled away. "I made us food. Come on." He held his hand and led him into the dining room.

"Hm... smells delicious."

"I hope so. It took long enough," he pulled out Seb's chair and he sat down. He then sat down opposite him and smiled.

"You've put in a lot of effort, haven't you?" Seb was looking around, grinning. Then he started eating, "didn't know you were such a great cook."

"Thank YouTube," Jim smirked and ate a forkful. They had a nice romantic meal and they both cheered up. Jim took the dishes away. "Go up to bed, I'll be up once I've cleaned." He kissed the top of his head.

"Okay," Seb smiled at him and went upstairs. Jim sorted out the kitchen and then made his way into the bathroom, like he always did.

The food was churning around in his stomach and he tried to resist it but he couldn't. He never could. So he stuck his fingers down his throat and tried to do it quietly so Seb wouldn't hear. No one knew about this problem of his and he wanted to keep it that way. He ate purely because it was traditional, he never kept it in, it was never of any benefit to him. He lived off of health shakes with vitamins and protein, and he managed to survive, somehow.

Just because he did it a lot, didn't mean it didn't upset him. He sniffed and wiped his eyes, flushing the toilet. He breathed deeply and calmed himself down. He felt empty, like he always did afterwards. He convinced himself he liked the feeling. He opened the door to go to the bedroom, but Seb was already there in front of him. He had heard everything. They stared at each other.

"Seb, I don't want to talk about it." He looked at the floor. Seb didn't seem angry, just disappointed. "I just... don't want to talk about it, okay?"

Seb had sobered up by now and he nodded, taking his hand, "okay." He felt that familiar ache again but ignored it. He kissed Jim's cheek and whispered, "come on, sweetie." He put his arm around him and pulled him close, leading him away. "It's okay..."

When they layed together, Seb hugged him, comforted him. He rested his chin on his head and wrapped his arms around his chest. He needed to keep him safe, well, happy. And that was becoming increasingly difficult.

He kissed Jim's neck a little, "you need to eat food and keep it in, honey... you're going to get ill."

Jim shook his head, "I've not got ill yet and I've done it for as long as I can remember." His voice was sleepy. Seb tutted.

"How didn't I notice? I'm an idiot. It's my job to keep you well and you've been doing this all along. I blame myself."

"No, no it's nothing to do with you. This is me, this is my problem. Don't burden yourself with this," he muttered, leaning into him.

"It's not a burden if it helps you," Seb said quietly, trailing patterns over Jim's chest with his fingertips.

"Seb, you can't fix me. You can't help me. I'm more fucked up than you'll ever know. I'm so fucked up I don't even  _want_  you to know."

"Don't say that... everything can be fixed. I can make it better. I always do, don't I?" He held him a little tighter.

"No... not this." Seb could tell that there was so much more that Jim wasn't telling him and it made him worry. "You can't fix this."

Seb sighed into his ear and kissed his cheek, "I can  _try_... but I can't do anything unless you tell me. I can't help if I don't know..."

"Sebastian, I can't tell you," his voice was stern and it made Sebastian shut up. He only wanted to help, to make things better, but he couldn't. There was an atmosphere between them and Seb wanted it to go away. He wanted everything to be alright. He wanted to fix Jim.

He kissed his neck and his collarbone and then shut his eyes, "I'm always here if you need me, okay? I'm not giving up on you, no matter how fucked up you are. I've waited long enough for you to be my boyfriend and I'm not going to mess it up just because you have some problems. We all have problems. And I happen to like a man who isn't perfect."

Jim turned out to face him, "thank you. That means a lot..." He kissed him gently, his hands through his hair. Then he stopped and shut his eyes, "I'm tired."

"Alright, honey..." he whispered and turned the light off. The nightlight was on in the corner of the room, Seb had bought him a new one. Seb held him close and kissed him softly. "I love you, Jim-Jam. Good night."

"Mh, night, Sebby..."


	11. Childhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning at the start

**Pre-chapter Note: I don't generally do trigger warnings because I think they're stupid but I'll stick one in anyways cause I love you guys so much. This chapter is a tad emotional. Just read the title. It's not nice, it's not pleasant. It just gets worse. Read this or skip it if you want, I'll do a brief summary (in less detail) at the start of the next chapter when I write it so you sensitive ones are all caught up. Don't go complaining that I didn't warn you guys. Anyway, love you guys. Don't forget how beautiful you are, because it's easy to in a world this ugly. But you're precious and beautiful and I love you :)**

**Sebastian woke up**  early and let his mind wander. It ended up reliving the last year or so of his lie, from when he met and moved in with Jim. He smiled to himself, gazing at the short, sleeping man next to him. He looked like a baby when his face was relaxed. He looked at peace, which was something he rarely was when he was awake. Seb played with his hair as he recalled when he first slept in his bed. He chuckled lightly at the memory and kissed Jim's forehead, making his stretch but not wake. Seb remembered going in the bathroom a few weeks ago and seeing those pills. He frowned. He still didn't know what they were or what they did, and that made him worry.

"What's wrong with you, eh...?" He muttered quietly, assuming Jim was too far gone to hear him. But he wasn't. Jim frowned and opened his eyes to the minimal amount possible to still see.

"What?" His accent was thicker when he was sleepy, Sebastian noticed.

He kissed his forehead once again, "nothing, sweetie. Go back to sleep." He closed his eyes, their heads pressed together. There were a few moments of silence as they drifted in between sleep and not.

Then Jim spoke up with, "you mean the pills, right?"

"Yeah..." he reached across and held his hand, his eyelids still shut.

"I don't take them. For two reasons. One, I don't like what they do to my head, and two, they misdiagnosed me. They're the wrong pills." 

"What do you have? What are they for? Is it, you know, the bulimia?" He winced at the recent memory of hearing him throwing up.

"No, not that. There isn't a pill to make you ear. No, the pills I have are for bipolars and psychotic episodes. In all fairness, I am psychotic sometimes, but I'm not bipolar."

"What are you?" Seb asked, his voice quiet. He squeezed his hand to support him.

"I'm split personality."

"You are?" Seb opened his eyes, shocked, to find that Jim had never even closed them to begin with. 

"Yeah, or at least something similar. It's like... two people inside me fighting to be at the surface. I have the, I guess what you'd call, human side. When I'm nice and lovey, like now. But then I ave what I call the Work Jim. That's what makes me so good at my job. No emotions or regrets, no feeling. It's like two sides of a coin. But I've controlled it. Kind of. I don't need drugs."

"That-That explains a lot, really." It clicked in Seb's mind. The mood swings, the changes. 

"It's Work Jim who strangled you." 

"I figured..." Seb looked away, remembering how much it upset him.

"But it's this Jim that cares for you," he changed his voice and smiled at him warmly. He kissed his cheek and Sebastian forgot the bad memories instantly. All he could think about was how close he was to him and how lucky he was to be in this position at all. He could still recall a time he was certain he'd never even confess his feelings for him. How far they'd come since then. As Jim kissed his nose and his cheek and his lips and his neck, he thought about how much he still hadn't told him, how much he had been hiding. Jim had just told him a lot yet he hadn't trusted him with anything. The guilt built up inside him like a ball of giant lead until it was too much and he sighed. "What's up, baby?" Jim pulled away and looked at him lovingly. 

"Look, Jim, I think it's time I told you some things about myself..." He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

"Whatever you tell me, I won't judge you I promise." He ran his thumb over his hand and squeezed it gently. "I'm here."

"Remember when we played the Question Game and it said about childhood and I didn't want to answer?" Jim nodded. "Well, I didn't have the best childhood, really. I was born into a middle-class family and we were well-off. But that didn't make it good. My father, who's a bloody  _Lord_ would you believe it, used to get drunk a lot. And when he was drunk he'd get violent," his eyes closed as he relived evenings of hiding under his bed, scared of what would happen to him. "He would beat me. It started when I was 11 with just a smack around the head and it developed into so much more... one time my mother thought I was going to die. I got hospitalised. He did it because he caught me with a guy. And he got away with it because he was rich."

Jim tutted and shook his head, keeping himself close to him, "I'm sorry."

"I guess it was a good thing, though. I mean, it toughened me up for the army. He was the reason I joined, I guess. I couldn't have done it if it wasn't for how he treated me." 

"Sweetie... you shouldn't have been put through that. I'm sorry." He kissed his head and sighed. "No child should be put through that and I would do anything to change what you've been subjected to. Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me."

He nodded, "you deserve to know." 

Jim sighed, feeling the time approaching. But he didn't know if he could say it. It wasn't that he didn't  _want_ to, he did, he just couldn't think of the words. He didn't know how to say what he wanted to say. The words just weren't there. It wasn't something he ever had to say before. Ever. He wasn't sure how to vocalise it, what was in his mind. 

Seb could see these thoughts on his face and probed him gently with, "what are you thinking, love?"

"I-I didn't answer the question either, did I? There's a reason too." He had began. He couldn't stop now. It was too late.

"Whatever you tell me-"

"I know, Seb, I know." Jim dismissed his kindness. He felt that familiar feeling of his heart quickening and his head feeling both boiling and freezing at the same time. He began to panic, not sure what to do or what to say. He tried to calm his breathing but it was getting difficult. The last time he got like this, Seb found him and held him until he slept. The times before that, he was alone. 

"Hey, hey," Seb sat him and himself up and held him close as Jim started to cry. "I'm here. Whatever it is, it's over. It's gone. I'm here now and I'll kill anything dead that tries to hurt you." His hands rubbed his back soothingly. 

"I-I want to tell you, I do! I just don't know-know how to say it... what words to use..." his voice trailed off into that of a child's. He shook and made himself small, wanting to disappear entirely. "I don't know what to say..."

He pulled away from him and looked him in the eye, "you don't have to tell me, not if you don't want to. I'll understand if you don't want to."

"I-I do want to though. I just don't know how," his breathing was jagged like a bread knife. "I don't know how..." his words were breathy and quiet.

"Don't say anything then. I'll ask you questions and you nod if it's right, okay?" 

He nodded. 

"You were abused?" A nod. "By family?" Yes. "Father?" He shook his head. "Mother?" No. "Uncle?" No. "Brother?" Yes. Seb swallowed, not really wanting to hear anymore, but carrying on anyway. "Emotional?" Yes. "Physical?" A pause and then a nod. Seb bit his lip and asked, "sexual?" A longer pause. A nod. Then a sob.

Seb couldn't do it any longer. He wrapped him up in his arms and held him as close as he could.  He breathed into his hair and tried to block out what he'd just discovered. He convinced himself that his arms would protect him from everything, from his past, from himself. He wanted to fix him, to make it better, but he didn't know how to. "It's over, he's gone, I'm here. You're safe," was all he could say. Over and over and over again he whispered it. It became a mantra and their pulses slowed to it, matching the rhythm of his syllables. 

"I told them," Jim's voice was soft and quiet, "I told them many times. But they never believed me. Nick was always the favourite. They never wanted to think that there was something wrong with him. He got better grades, he had more friends. Mum never wanted to even entertain the possibility that he was anything but perfect." 

Sebastian rocked him gently and hummed in appropriate places, knowing that it wasn't his place to talk. This was Jim's time and he was there for him, always.

"I was about 9 when I realised it wasn't normal. Hearing other children talking in class... people didn't go through what I went through. At first, I thought it was because they were keeping quiet. Like Nick always told me that it was... it was out secret." He struggled to get the words out but persevered anyway, not having anything to lose anymore. "But I asked people and they didn't know what I was on about. So then I noticed that it wasn't normal. So I told my parents. They told me off for lying and sent me to my room. They grounded me. Then they went out to work and Nick was home. He made it worse because I'd told on him." Tears fell from his eyes and he cried a little. "I told them again and showed them bruises but they still didn't believe me. They never ever did. They went away a lot on holiday and left me with him. But when they were home, he'd-he'd come in the night." He paused, "and that's why I'm afraid of the dark." 

Seb had tears streaming down his own cheeks. No one could hear this and not be upset. 

"You know the worst thing? It's that she  _knew_. My mother, she knew and didn't do anything. She didn't want to wreck her perfect little family set up. She didn't want a rapist for a son. But she told me, right as I was killing her, that she knew. And did nothing." He sniffed loudly, "how could you just  _do nothing_? How does that even work? I couldn't live with myself if-" He sighed, "I killed them. I killed all of them. First dad, then mum, and finally Nick. But I had some fun with him first. I had my revenge."

"Good-" Seb sniffed and wiped his nose, "the bastard deserved everything he got. And she did." 

"He's the reason I make myself sick..." Jim sighed again, lightly, "because I used after he, you know... After him. Then it just got worse. I started to not like having anything in my stomach so I'd puke after meals too. It didn't go away. I mean, until you, I don't know why you're different, I even made myself sick after sex. Every time. I can't cope if I don't. I don't know why I haven't just gotten over it, I just... I just can't. It's the hardest thing I've ever-well, no. Because I haven't done it. I can't. The fact that I invented this, this other side, Work Jim, still doesn't help. It's common for children who've been through similar things. They create another personality to cope."

Seb nodded, "this isn't something people just get over, Jimmy. It's not something anyone should ever even have to go through in the first place. It's awful. You can't expect to just be okay."

"But I should be!" His exclaim wasn't powerful, it was tearful. "I'm meant to be strong..." his voice quietened down and reminded Seb of a child crying. 

"You are strong, sweetie. You're the strongest person I've ever known. The fact that you're here and you're alive shows how strong you are. You haven't let what's happened to you beat you and that's all that matters. You've come back from it. You can't ever expect to get over it, that just doesn't happen. But you jut have to live each day and just by doing that you are showing that bastard that you won't be beaten by him. Jim, you are strong. And I don't want to hear you saying you are anything but."

"But, Seb-"

"Shut up. No. I don't want to hear it. You are strong. You are perfect. And I love you."

"Oh, Seb..." He grabbed him and held onto him, never wanting to let go.

And he would never have to.


	12. Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lots 'o sad things

**After that, things** were different between them. They were much more open with each other, much more caring in a way. They were sensitive about each other's issues and talked more about things, important things. They also found that, over the months, they spent more time together. After confessing so much to each other, they began to feel like the other had become a part of them, leading to them not wanting to spend much time apart, if any at all. 

Jim felt an improvement in himself, not enough for his fear of the dark to go away, but still an improvement. Sebastian held him just that little bit closer each night, like he knew it would make him feel safer. Which it did. Jim would often wake in the night and panic, thinking that he wasn't there, that he was alone. He would scramble desperately for his hand and then would take a while to calm down back into sleep. Seb, of course, would be deep asleep and unaware of this. And Jim wouldn't tell him. He thought he was weak enough in his eyes anyway.

 **One day, Jim**  woke up when it was already light, he had slept right through, which was unusual for him. Sebastian was already awake, sat up and leaned against the headboard, on his mobile. Jim could sense a different atmosphere, not like what he was used to. 

"Morning, Seb," he reached out from the covers to touch his hand and smiled. But the smile quickly dissipated as Sebastian's glare fixed on him. He was right. Something was wrong. He pulled his hand away slowly. 

"Oh, look. He's up." His voice was harsh, sharp, and spoke the words like they were poison.

"Sebby, are you okay? What's wrong?" 

At this, Sebastian began to laugh, looking up and rolling his eyes. "What's wrong with me? Nothing, no. In fact, I'm very happy." He put his phone down on his bedside table, "primarily because I don't have to put up with  _this_ anymore."

Jim swallowed, the dread building in his stomach and causing sweat to bead on his forehead. "Don't have to do what anymore?" His voice was quiet with terror.

"This. Us. You." Sebastian stood up and leaned back against the window. 

"What do you mean?"  He whined, scared. He sat up and looked at him desperately.

Sebastian gestured to his phone, "that was just my superior. They have what they need. I don't need to do this anymore." He was smiling but it wasn't a good smile. Far from it, very far from it.

"What do you mean?" 

"This stupid fucking relationship shit. I don't need to pretend anymore. God, does it feel good!" He chuckled, stretching. Then he saw the look on Jim's face and gave him a look of fake sympathy. "Oh, did poor Jimmy not know that his lover is a spy?"

"A-A spy? What do you-"

"What do I mean?" He mocked and laughed again, cruelly. "I mean that I've been paid by people who don't like you to infiltrate and discover what I can about you. None of us quite expected you to tell me so much. Or that you'd end up liking me so much. Well, the me I pretended to be. Of course I'm not like that. I'm not nearly that patient. I can't tell you how many times I've almost hung myself being around you." 

Jim bit his lip to stop his tears, "stop it. Stop this. It isn't funny."

"No, of course it isn't. Not for you, anyway. It's very serious for you. It's all gonna come  _crumbling down_  pretty damn soon. I'd start running if I were you," he paused and then narrowed his eyes as he said, both sarcastically and dangerously, " _dear_."

"Seb, stop this!" Jim exclaimed, tears falling. "Stop joking around!" He knew, even as he said the words, that this wasn't a joke. But he didn't even want to entertain that possibility.

"Oh, sweetie..." Seb leaned forward and grabbed him by the chin, making him look directly at him. "Did you really think that the perfect, handsome, psychopathic Sebastian Moran was real? And even if he was, that he'd like  _you_? No. No he would not. And you're very naive for thinking so. They're laughing at you, my bosses, and all the little stories you've told me and I've told them. They think you're weak, that you're just a joke. And you know what, I do too. I do too. And, Jim," His grip tightened and Jim let out a sob, " _I. Hate. You._ "

  **Gasping for air**  like a fish out of water, Jim'd eyes flung open. It was dark around him. He checked for Seb, who was there sleeping. His heart beat fast and he panicked, not sure what was real and what wasn't. The tears, he could be sure, were real. He was crying a lot, and quite loudly. Seb groaned and woke up, looking up at him. Then he realised how upset he was. 

"Hey, hey, Jimmy, what's wrong?" 

"I-you-I-" He couldn't even get his words out properly, the panic was so much for him. Seb sat up and wrapped his arms around him protectively.

"You had a nightmare, baby, it's okay... it wasn't real." He hummed to him and rocked him gently. 

"It-It seemed so real..." Jim cried, his eyes screwed tightly shut. He was shaking with sobs but Seb's strong arms managed to keep him steady. "You-you don't hate me, do you?"

He pulled away to look at him, "no. I love you. I love you more than anything and you better not think any different." He was serious and that made Jim snap back into reality. He nodded. 

"Thank you. Thank you."

Seb shook his head and chuckled, "you silly thing..." He hugged him again, "I love you."

Jim calmed down and then fell asleep in his arms. Seb lay him down gently and wrapped himself around him, his arm resting over his torso. He hugged him closely and didn't let go. 

 **For months afterwards**  they lived blissfully. They were the same as they had been before, just with added extras. The routines remained the same: Seb would do whatever Jim told him to for the day, Jim would stay in the office working, Seb would come home and cook food, Jim would eat what he could and clean, they'd watch TV and they'd go to bed. The extras included: cuddling, emotional talk, hugging and, of course, kissing. They fitted into the pattern of life with ease, like they were born for it. Everything was perfect.

Until he disappeared.

Sebastian came home, a smile on his face which was common at that point, and a bunch of roses in his hands, "Jim!" He called, but there was no ' _Sebby_!' or an excited Jim running to him like there usually was. He frowned and called his name again, to no avail. He put the flowers down and went to look for him. Every room was empty, his mobile was there, his coat was there, his wallet was there and even his shoes were there.  Seb knew that something was wrong. He rang everyone he knew to find out if anyone had seen him. They hadn't.

But Seb didn't give up. He couldn't. He wouldn't. He went out and walked through the streets of London, asking strangers if they had seen him. Of course, no one had. There was no trace of him disappearing, he was just... gone. When Seb got home, at around 3am, there was a text on his phone, from someone he and Jim knew: [ _Seb - I think MH has him_ ]

Of course. Of course he had him.  _Of course_  he did. And if Mycroft had him, the government had him. Which meant that there was nothing Seb could do to save him; his hands were tied.

He went to bed and stayed there. He saw no point in getting up if there wasn't a Jim there to smile at him and hold his waist as he did his tie for him. He spent his days imagining the worst possible things that could be happening to his lover. He wouldn't do anything except cry and would only eat if he was about to pass out. He couldn't function without his Jim.

 **Jim lost track**  of time. His room was dark. It was the darkness which got to him the most, more so than the torture or the sleep deprivation. Of course, he couldn't let on that he was afraid of the dark, and that was the hardest part. There was no night light and no Sebastian to hold his hand, to protect him from the things that come when the lights went off. He sat there, day in day out, in the same position, facing the one-way mirror. He held his own hand and pretended that it was Seb; and in some small and silly way it helped. He knew that Mycroft was watching him, testing him, seeing how long it would take for him to break. Except he wouldn't break. He was Work Jim. He was strong. He wouldn't break, no matter how many times he was hit, slapped, punched or shocked. He would stay strong.

 **Each day blended** , melted, mixed into the next. Until they suddenly didn't.

The front door swung open and Jim fell in, stumbling over himself and landing on the floor. Sebastian knew he was back, just from the sound.  He ran down the stairs and fell to the floor himself, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend. They were wordless as they cried to each other, just joyous to be with each other again. It took a few minutes of them sobbing for Seb to realise that Jim was bleeding.

"S-Sweetie-" he pulled away to look at him for the first time. His Jim's face wasn't his Jim's face anymore. It was bruised, bleeding, scarred. "No, no, no-" he whined, panicking. "My baby..." he sobbed, wrapping him up in a hug once more.

"Seb-" Jim cried, never wanting to be away from him ever again. 2 weeks and 2 days was enough to drive them both mad. "Sebby I missed you so much-" His voice was shaking with sobs but he managed to get the words out. 

"My brave man... My brave, brave man..." Seb muttered, plotting revenge already on the people who had dared to do this to his perfect kitten. He held him there until they had both calmed down and he took him to bed, catering to his wounds and then holding him til he slept. 

The roses on the floor in the hallway had already rotted way to nothing.


	13. The Phase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sad then cute then sad then cute and then sad

**Skin heels quicker** than the mind. The blood clotted, the bruises faded, the cuts scarred, but the mental trauma took far longer to sink from the surface of his mind. It ruled his actions, distracted him from work. It was the sort of trauma that you stop to think about. The kind of trauma that makes everything else fall away as you try to fight your way out of the memory. It was the kind of trauma that made Sebastian hide himself away in the bathroom and run the tap as he cried with worry for his boyfriend. It was the kind of trauma that you're not sure how to fix. The kind of trauma you're not sure  _can_ be fixed.

He tried. They both tried. Seb offered all the support he could but didn't know what to do when it wasn't enough. Jim tried to force the feelings away but, sometimes, it just didn't work. Sometimes the feelings were too potent and crashed over him like a wave; he was just being swept along with the tide. Seb didn't know what to do when it got to a certain point. When Jim was crying, throwing things, turning all the lights on at 3 in the morning, screaming at him for trying to calm him down... Sebastian didn't know what to do. He would grab him and hold him down so he couldn't hit out. He'd hug him and hold him until he gave up.  Jim wouldn't remember anything the next day, he'd just have the overwhelming feeling of shame. Like Seb would have after a drunken night, not that he had them anymore: Jim was a full time, strictly-sober-only job. Seb would try not to give too much detail away about what he'd been up to, but he would coax it out of him. And finding out what he'd done only ever made him worse. It was a difficult period but they tried. That was all they could do.

 **"Come on, we're**  going for a meal." Sebastian muttered, his chin resting on the top of Jim's head. He was in his arms, his hands on his back. "I'm taking us out somewhere nice."

Jim opened his eyes and looked at him, pulling his head away from under his. "You are?"

"Yes. Come on."

"Wait, I need to get dressed if we're going out." Jim's voice had lost its emotion, its playfulness. Everything it used to be. It sounded dead. They were the same words, but they could have been coming from a robot. Seb nodded and let go of him so he could go over to the wardrobe and deliberate over outfits. "Are you going casually or are you dressing up?" Jim asked. 

"I'm going like this, love," Seb chuckled, looking down at himself in a reddish t-shirt and jeans. 

Jim frowned and put his suit back onto the rung, clearly disappointed. "Oh."

"But if  _you_  want to dress up, Jimmy, you can. It's just that I'm not going to."

Then Jim smiled brightly and Seb felt a weight lift off his chest. Maybe today was going to be better. Today was going to be a good day.

So Jim put one of his favourite Westwood suits on and Seb did his tie, like he always did. It felt like normal, like they'd gone back to how things were before Mycroft took him. Seb took him by the hand and led him to the car. He drove them to a post restaurant where he'd reserved a table. A nice waitress showed them their table in the corner, in an alcove. 

"Goodness gracious me, we're like a normal couple." Seb said and then they both laughed. It was great to see him happy for once. Seb reached across and held his hand on top of the table. "We're going to get you better, Jim. I promise. I'm not giving up on you. Not now, not ever."

He smiled and it almost reached his eyes, "thank you." Then he looked down at the menu and Seb saw the obvious struggle on his face. 

"You don't need to have much. Just what you can," Seb reassured him. "It's okay." 

Jim nodded and read through the options, "I'll have... I think I'll have the lasagne."

Seb smiled at the large portion size he had chosen, "I'm going to have the steak I think. Bloody." 

Jim stuck his tongue out like he was ill, "ew. That's disgusting. I don't know how you can eat that." He shuddered but then grinned at him. "Thanks for taking me out... I think I needed to get away from that house."

Seb nodded, squeezing his hand, "you were spending too much time cooped up in there. You have to get out from time to time." A waiter then appeared and took their order of food and expensive wine. Then they were alone again. 

"I'm glad we're here, because I need to tell you something."

"What is it, love?" He asked, getting a little nervous like everyone does when they hear those words.

"I'm going to put the Reichenbach plan into action."

"Oh." 

"Soon. Very soon." 

"I see," Seb loosened his grip on his hand. He didn't want this. He knew that Jim wasn't ready. He wasn't well enough to be doing anything quite yet. And, well, Seb didn't want to lose him to Sherlock. He wanted him to stay at home and be able to take care of him. He didn't want him doing all this. He just needed him home and safe and okay. He needed to look after him, not have him running around committing crimes.

"Don't be upset, Sebby. You knew this was going to happen."

"But still, you're not ready." 

"Don't tell if I'm ready or not. I've been preparing this for years."

"I mean you.  _You_ aren't ready. You're ill." Seb pulled his hand away, wishing him to see his point of view. Jim looked hurt and offended. 

" _I am not ill_ ," his voice was a loud whisper. "This is just a phase. I'll get over it."

"A phase? A  _phase_?! Was it 'a phase' when I'm being woke up at God-knows-o'clock by being yelled at and screamed at and  _attacked_ by you? And I can't stop you because it's like there's some barrier between  _you_ and  _reality_? Is it a phase when I try to calm you down and you  _hit_ me? Is it a  _phase_ when I'm fu-" A waiter went past an glanced at them. He was shouting. He toned his voice down, "When I'm crying in the bathroom because I can't _deal with it_ anymore?" 

This made Jim shut up. He closed his mouth and pursed his lips, staring down at the tablecloth in shame. Seb saw the look in his eyes and immediately felt awful.

"I-I'm sorry, Jim, I shouldn't have said that. It's just... so bloody hard." He sighed, leaning on his hand. The food arrived and Seb gave the waiter a forced, polite smile. When he left, neither of the two men touched their food. Jim stared down at it and kept his tears in, hoping they wouldn't spill over and land on his food, and Seb looked at Jim, wishing he would say something. Anything. Seb reached across and for his hand again, which made him finally look up at the sniper. "I'm sorry. I love you. Let's just have a nice meal okay? No work, no bad things. Just us. Okay?"

Jim eventually nodded, after a moment of suspense. He smiled, "okay. Let's be normal, for one night."

Seb held out his wine, "to being normal."

They clinked glasses, "to being normal."

 **It was to**  be their first Christmas together as a couple. Last Christmas was like every other day, except Seb drank more to drown out the memories of family times. He didn't want to remember his father losing it over the turkey and hitting him when he dropped a plate. So he drank.

But this Christmas was going to be different, Sebastian would make sure of it. He got recipes ready and bought ingredients for their meal. He'd gotten Jim's presents, all personalised, and wrapped them with love. He insisted on Jim helping him put a tree in the living room, though Jim couldn't reach very far up it to decorate. Seb picked him up so Jim could put the star on top. Of course, they didn't go in for the typical Christmas thing, but they did enjoy spending time together decorating the house and basking in the general excitement of the build up. Seb had everything planned and he intended this to be his first happy Christmas. He wouldn't let anything go wrong. 

 **Christmas Eve, they**  stayed up in their new pyjamas (which Seb had put in the tumble dryer so they were warm) and watched Christmas movies, wrapped in each other and eating unhealthy but tasty things. They felt normal. And they liked it.

In the morning, Seb had intended to wake Jim up with kisses, one of his presents, and a hot chocolate with marshmallows. Everything was planned. But that didn't end up happening. 

Jim was already up, and on his phone. Seb sighed, his alarm going off. "Jim, what's going on? Get back to bed, it's Christmas." He groaned, sitting up and looking at him. Jim was sat up in bed, typing.

"I've got to get going, tiger."

"What? What do you mean?" Seb felt his chest hurt as he could tell that his efforts and hopes were going to be crushed.

"I've been invited out."

"I don't care. It's Christmas, you're staying here." Seb didn't want to give away all that he'd been doing to make the day perfect, but he also didn't want it to all go to waste. He didn't want to add to the list of Christmases spent crying into a bottle of Blue Bombay.

"I can't, dear, I'm sorry." He gave him an apologetic look as he got up to get changed into a suit. "I have to go. The helicopter will be here in 15 minutes."

"Jim-!" Seb exclaimed, hurt by the whole thing. Jim turned around and frowned. 

"What? What is it?"

"You can't go. It's Christmas." He felt small suddenly, desperate. 

"Baby, it's Mycroft. I've been summoned. I can't turn this down, sweetie. I'm sorry, I really am."

"Jim, I just want one Christmas. I've never had one. I just want this. I-please. I've put in so much effort." He looked at the floor and Jim felt awful. "Just one Christmas... no work, no jobs, no arguing. Please, Jim." 

Jim came over to him and hugged him, "I won't be long, Seb. I promise. A few hours. I'll be back later I promise and we can have Christmas then, okay?"

Seb bit the inside of his cheek and nodded, "okay. A few hours. No later."

He kissed his forehead, "I'll see you later, sweetie." He got up and left, walking past the presents under the tree with ' _For my beautiful boss x_ ' written on them and feeling awful. He got on the helicopter, from the pad that was on on top of the house, and was taken to Sherrinford, where he met Eurus. Sebastian, on the other hand, was desperately fighting off the urge to drink as he sat alone watching an old movie, with the presents staring at him. All his efforts went down the drain, his plans meant  nothing. He'd been planning for days, he'd been so excited for weeks and weeks. And now it meant nothing because Jim had gone off working.

8am turned into 12pm, which turned into 3pm, which led to Seb giving up and cracking open a beer and eating Christmas lunch by himself. He sat there and stared at the food. He'd lost his appetite. He felt sick. So he tipped his food in the bin, glanced at the clock, put Jim's food in the fridge, and went to bed. There, he cried. He had been so excited and so happy and Christmas Eve was perfect. But then it was all ruined, in just one text message. 

Jim had gotten home whilst he was crying but Seb hadn't heard him over his crying. Jim came to him immediately, hearing his sobs. He rushed up to him and peeled the blanket back over his head so he could see him. 

"Hey, hey, Sebby, don't cry-" Jim reached across and held him closely. "I'm sorry, Sweetie... I know you put in a lot of effort and I'm sorry..." He felt awful seeing him so upset. He didn't know it would effect him so badly. "But I'm back now, right? We can still have Christmas..."

Seb sniffed and shook his head, "I chucked my food out because I-I wasn't hungry... and we don't have time to watch the film if we open the presents now, and I haven't started the dessert and-"

He silenced him with a kiss. He kissed him and then hugged him.

"I just wanted everything to be perfect..." He sighed, wiping his tears away, "I guess I'm not allowed a nice Christmas.... they all end up the same way, with me drinking and crying."

"No, no, not this one. Not this time. I'm sorry I left but I promise I'll fix this." He kissed him gently. "You stay here. I'm fixing this." Jim was suddenly on a mission. Like his clients with their, 'Jim will you fix it for me...', this time it was 'Jim, fix Christmas because you messed it up.'

He put the presents in a big box and took them up the stairs as he made hot chocolate for them both. Then he came in, with the presents in his arms and a Santa hat on his head, and grinned at Seb. "Merry Christmas, tiger."

Seb looked at him, his sky eyes finally dry, and smiled, "merry Christmas, sweetie." He held his arms out and Jim dropped some presents into them and handed him his drink. Jim then got changed quickly into his pyjamas and Seb did the same, and they got into bed and snuggled up. Seb hugged him and sipped his drink, "thank you."

"Open your presents, come on," Jim urged, smiling.

"And you."

So they opened their things. Jim got Seb a personalised gun, which he promptly named Kris. Seb got Jim a new tie, with a little tiger and a kitten cartoon at the bottom.  Jim also got Seb some embarrassing tiger-stripped pants, and Seb got Jim an original, very expensive Queen record. After exchanging presents and finishing their beverages, they exchanged hugs and kisses and Seb felt better. They stayed in bed, turning the TV on the wall on and watching it whilst talking. It was finally the Christmas they wanted, the Christmas they deserved. Little did they know that they'd spend the next one alone.


	14. Mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aw

**Boxing Day was** better. Jim didn't have work, he just had fun. They finally managed to eat a Christmas meal together. Jim even ate 3/4 of his, which led to Sebastian hugging him and not letting go because he was so proud of him. They watched Christmas movies and cuddled on the sofa. Seb finally had the delayed-Christmas he always wanted to have. He held Jim on his lap, them both facing the TV, watching the _Muppets' Christmas Carol_ , his hands across his waist, whispering in his ear about how much he loved him and how he was the luckiest man on earth to be with Jim Moriarty. Jim smiled at his words and wriggled back into him, chuckling when his breath tickled his skin. 

"Sebby..." he whined, leaning his head back fully so it filled the gap where Seb's shoulder ended. 

"Yes, my beautiful?" 

"I feel ill."

"Oh no!" Sebastian exclaimed dramatically, quickly moving so that Jim was lying down on the sofa and he was above him, hisyou arms on either side of his shoulders, looking down at him. "Ill? Ill in what way, my Lord?" He was smiling.

"I feel a cold coming on..." Jim sighed, but was grinning too.

"Oh dear God! Oh cruel master! How could you let this be?!" He asked the ceiling. Jim was giggling. Seb turned back to him. "Well, you're going to have to stay with me until you're better so that I can look after you. You can't go out because you'll get cold and you'll turn into an actual icicle. I'll have to be your caring nurse and keep you with me constantly." He smiled and then kissed the tip of his nose. Then his lips. Then his lips again. And again. "I can't let you go now," he lowered the tone of his voice so it was a seductive whisper. 

"I'd cry if you did," Jim remarked quietly, raising his eyebrows at him, already missing the taste of him on his lips. 

"And I could _never_ let you be upset," Seb smirked and pressed his lips to his again, this time leaning his body closer to his, his hand on the side of his face. Jim basked in the attention and giggled at his touch. He kissed him and kissed him. "God, I love you." 

Jim chuckled and kissed his cheek, "thank you for such a wonderful Boxing Day..."

"It's all I've ever wanted: a normal Christmas holiday. This is the closest I've got." He stroked the side of his face and stared at him lovingly. "And I wouldn't want it with anyone else."

Jim grinned and agreed with him. He then proceeded to kiss him some more, pulling him down towards himself, and not letting him go. They spent the rest of the day cuddling and kissing and just being together, being happy.

 **But the Christmas** spirit soon drained away back into the normality of everyday life. Except everyday life had developed a twist. Jim, in order to carry out the Reichenbach plans, needed to get in a relationship with one Kitty Riley. And not only get into her pants, but move in with her. At least for a while. It broke Seb's heart but he couldn't bear to speak up about it. Jim assured him that she meant nothing to him and never would, but still, obviously, the thought of Jim kissing, hugging, making love to someone else hurt Seb.

He would sit alone in the house, working his way through up to 40 cigarettes a day. And the alcohol wormed its way back into his daily routine as well. He justified it to himself by telling himself that there was no point in being sober if Jim wasn't there. Jim wouldn't be home for weeks, so Seb didn't bother changing or eating regularly or doing anything useful. The house was a mess; the living room littered with beer cans and cigarette butts. The TV stayed on permanently, on the quietest volume, just eating up electricity. The lights stayed off. He only ate quick meals. The hours ticked by and all he waited for was the daily text update he would get from Jim.

His boss and boyfriend had promised him one text a day, as anymore would be suspicious. They would be in code, their code, so that if Kitty found them she wouldn't worry about them. Seb would read the messages over and over and over until he practically drove himself insane. His mind would race with thoughts of Jim. His heart would ache and contort and hurt just thinking about him. He wasn't allowed to reply, he was told that _very_ clearly. But one drunk night he just couldn't stop himself.

_[Please come home.]_

There was a minute before a reply came but the little tick had shown Seb that he had seen it.

_[I can't. You know that. We can't talk.]_

_[How long are you going to be? I'm rotting away here. It's alright for you with a pretty little girlfriend but what about me? You never fucking care about me]_

_[I do. You know I do. Be brave. I won't be long. A few weeks.]_

_[I fucking hate you.]_

Seb let out a growl, hitting _send_. He regretted it immediately but took some mouthfuls of something stronger than lager to numb the guilt. Then his phone rang. He looked at the screen, which read ' _Boss_.' He waited until the last ring to answer. 

"What?" His voice was slurred as he crushed a can in his hand and threw it to the pile by the sofa.

"Please don't do this."

"Do what? Be sad because my boyfriend is fucking someone else?! Oh sorry for acting like a rational human being!" He exclaimed. "You never think of me, do you? Ever. Just yourself. It's always about you. What Jim wants, what Jim needs. Fuck me. Never listen to me. Never care about me. It's always fucking you, isn't it, Jim? Always you!"

"Seb please." He sighed. He sounded tired. He didn't sound like himself. Not that it threw Seb off. "Please don't do this. Just be okay. Take care of yourself please. You know I care about you."

"Fuck you." He hung up and began to cry. He spent a long time crying. Not that he'd know. He had covered up all the clocks and avoided pressing the button on the remote to find it out. Time just depressed him even more. The closed curtains hid whether it was day or night and that was probably for the best. He could have cried for minutes, hours or days. He didn't know or care to know. He just wanted to disappear.

 **He was passed** out on the sofa with _Judge Rinder_ playing in the background when Jim came home. He was too blind drunk to even hear the door open. Jim hadn't text since they had spoken on the phone, which was 12 days ago by that point. Jim was about to go and steal the crown jewels, but wanted to take the opportunity to see Seb first. He gasped when he saw the state of the house; the breath left him when he saw the state of his boyfriend. He was deathly pale, with dark patches under his eyes. He was thinner than he was when he'd left him. Even though he was clearly sleeping, Jim could have been sure he could hear him crying. He came and crouched next to him, clearing a path through the rubbish. He stroked the side of his face but he didn't stir. Jim sighed, feeling awful for leaving him, for causing him to be like this. He kissed his cheek, his forehead, his nose, and then his lips, which tasted horribly of beer and tobacco.

Seb's eyes flickered open, resting of Jim's face, and then his body curled away from him, flipping over and facing the wall, "you decided to turn up, then."

"I wanted to see you."

"I bet you wish you didn't now, right?"

"A little bit, yeah," Jim admitted. "How could you let yourself get like this, Seb? I've only been gone a month."

"A month?" He whined, turning back a little to look at him. "I didn't know it was that long... I don't know how long I thought it was..."

"Tiger..." Jim sighed, kissing his forehead. "I need to sort you out." He grabbed his hand and sat him up. "Come on. You need to eat and have a shower. I'm going to make you some food-"

"No," Seb cried, latching onto him and pulling him towards himself, onto his lap. He hugged him like he'd never hug him again. His tears dripped onto Jim's shoulder. "I missed you - I missed you so much. Did you miss me too?"

"Of course I did, tiger. It was hell putting up with that complaining, desperate girl... I hate her. I felt so bad, leaving you here... but there wasn't another option, you know that right?"

Seb nodded, sniffing, "are you home for good now?"

He took a moment, knowing that his answer would break both their hearts,  before shaking his head, "no, sorry. I need to go to jail and then court and then I'm out. It'll be a while."

"Another month?" Seb's grip tightened on him, pulling him even closer. 

"Possibly. Probably more like 3 weeks."

"No, don't go again... please..." Seb sobbed, his shoulders shaking up and down with each jagged breath.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. But I have to otherwise there would have been no point to any of this... you know I have to, darling."

"Don't leave again please..." Seb was desperate, more desperate than Jim had ever seen him before. He felt awful.

"I'll stay for as long as I can, okay? I promise. We need to clean you up, come on." He insisted, pulling away but still holding his hand, and leading him upstairs to the bathroom. He sat him down on the toilet lid and washed his face of tears and bits of food and general dirt. He made him brush his teeth and use mouthwash and then joined him in a shower. He washed his hair for him and they just hugged under the hot jets for a while, telling each other how awful it was without the other.

Then he took him downstairs and made him food, cleaning up as he ate it, "I'll put a bin in here and you're going to use it, okay? I don't want this shit on my carpet, Seb." He pretended to be annoyed. "And you're going to bloody eat. And shower. And be decent. At least change clothes from time to time, Seb. For God's sake." He pulled a face as he swept the butts into a bag. "You should go out and do something, I dunno... exercise. Go shopping. Shoot someone. Get into a fight. Whatever." Jim figured he was talking to himself when Seb didn't answer. "Just get out of the house, you know..." He came back into the kitchen and Seb had finished the food and was sat with his head in his hands.

"I can't do this, Jim."

He put the bag of rubbish down and put his hand on his shoulder kindly, "how do you mean, tiger?"

"This. Any of this. I just - I can't. This isn't how I want to live, Jim., he shook his head.

He kissed the back of his head, "it won't be long, I promise. And then things will be back to normal. As soon as he's gone, I'll be back here and we'll be back as they always were."

"Promise me." It wasn't a question.

"I promise."

But he had his fingers crossed.


	15. Two Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tres sad

**It was the** next day he decided to leave. And, consequentially, it was the next day that Sebastian cried to him and begged him not to, grasping onto his shoulder and stretching the fabric of his t-shirt.

“Please, please don't go! I can't cope without you, not for another day let alone 3 weeks! Please, Jim!” His perfect features looked somewhat less perfect as they were tear-stained and contorted. Jim gave him a look of sympathy, feeling guilty for a moment, before taking his hand and kissing it delicately.

“I promise I’ll visit you as soon as I get out of court. I’ll come straight here, okay? So keep an eye on the news, I'll be everywhere for a while.”

He pulled his hand away so he could hug him. Jim was small compared to him, and so looked almost as if he was being crushed when he was hugged by someone as large as Sebastian. The driver, who wasn't Seb on this occasion, gave them a look but said nothing and got in the driver's seat. Seb was sobbing, “please don't go, please. I love you so much. I need you. Please don't go. Not again.”

Jim pulled back an inch and cupped his face lovingly, “you'll be okay, tiger. I know how brave you are. You can do this. For me. I know you can. I have faith in you. Now take care of yourself or I'm going to be really annoyed when I get back. And you don't want me to be annoyed because I'm a bastard when I'm annoyed.”

“You're a bastard anyway,” he sulked, rubbing his nose on his sleeve.

“Well I’ll be an amplified bastard then. Just take care of yourself, Seb. I mean it. No messing about. I want to see those abs, not left overs from kebabs. Okay?”

He sighed, “fine. Okay. Whatever,” he grumbled but then grinned, taking him in for another, final hug. “I love you. Be careful.”

“I know. I will be. I'll see you when I'm a freeman.” He then released himself and went into the back seat of the car, kissing him once quickly before shutting the door once and for all, “Goodbye, tiger.”

“Goodbye, Jim-Jam.”

 

 **The next morning,** Seb saw his boyfriend's face wherever he turned. And not because he was finally losing it, but because his boyfriend had, simultaniously, broken into the Tower of London, Pentonville Prison and the Bank of England. And something like that does tend to attract the attention of the media. He couldn't help but crack a small smile when he saw the printed, grainy, black and white face of his beloved man. Even through the bad quality, he would recognise that cheeky grin anywhere. It reminded him that Jim, even if it was in an unconventional manner, was healing. He was getting better. Finally. He was slowly walking the path back to his old self. And even if Seb didn't like the exact route he was taking to get there, he would do anything to get to that destination. So he tried. He kept to his promise and tried. He exercised everyday for at least 3 hours, he ate regularly, he cleaned, he did work. He did everything he could. The only thing that was missing was Jim. Even if he jam-packed the hours of daylight with distractions, the night-time was harder to fill. TV only interested him for so long, and then it was time for him to go to his lonely, Jimless bed. And that wasn't any fun. He hated the bed without him in it. It was far too big for one person. It was far too big for 2 people, if he was honest. But the way Jim's legs sprawled across the place made it feel like more room was being taken up. Seb missed holding him, cuddling him, kissing him, tickling him. He missed the smell of his hair, the touch of his skin, the gentle roughness of his stuble. Damn, he even missed his feet kicking him while he slept. There wasn't a thing about the man that Seb's heart didn't ache for as he stared up at the dark ceiling, the sheets feeling too free without Jim grabbing them for 'his side of the bed.'

But the point is that he tried. And he succeeded. He didn't fall into the depths of despair this time. He was okay. And he was eager for Jim to get out of prison. Seb watched the full coverage on BBC News, disapproving of their attitude towards his man, which only made him more excited to see him. He wanted to talk about everything that had happened. He wanted the gossip. He wanted to watch his face light up in the way he knew it would as he spoke about the trouble he had caused and the things that had happened as a consequence. But, above all that, he just wanted him home. He wanted things to go back to normal. He just wanted his Jimmy home again so he could take care of him. Seb even had a countdown on the fridge to the day of the trial.

When the counter finally hit 0, Seb waited outside the court. He smoked a cigarette, wearing his favourite pair of classic sunglasses. He was going to surprise Jim once he was released.

And he did surprise him. Boy, did he surprise him. Jim was escourted by officers as far as the court doors and then disgarded. That was when Seb threw his cigarette end on the floor and stubbed it out with his toe, smiling and annoucing, “hello, handsome.”

Jim turned to him, instantly knowing his voice. Then he grabbed him by his collar and pushed him against the wall of the courthouse, kissing him hard. 3 weeks of being in jail had taken their toll and Jim just needed Seb. Right then. Right there. And he didn't care who saw them. It was Seb who ended up having to pull away.

“Sweetie, I love your enthusiasm, but shouldn't we wait until we get home?”

Jim shook his head, breathing hard and looking him up and down, his hands on his cheeks, “I don't care. I need you.”

“Well I care,” Seb smirked before scooping him up and carrying him to the car, where the driver drove them away, averting his eyes of whatever they were getting up to in the back. Seb carried him into the house too, where he had put ' _WELCOME HOME, JIMMY!_ ' banners in the front porch. But they were both too preoccupied to notice them; the first place they headed was the bedroom.

 

 **Seb relished in** finally having the smell of his hair, the heat of his body, the touch of his stuble, the rhythm of his breath. And Jim enjoyed having a bed to sleep on. In his 21 days of concrete floors and a urinal in the same room as your food, he had almost forgotten the such luxuries of a king-sized bed, or even a blanket for that matter. The police down at Scotland Yard had taken a particularly nasty approach to him and deprived him of things they probably shouldn't legally. Not that he was one to complain, of course. So he wriggled around on the soft, comfy memory foam like a cat in a basket and Seb was all too happy to watch him.

“I bet it was fun.”

“Bet what was fun? Prison? No, that was far from it. But don't believe all you hear about them. I didn't have one guy come onto me the entire time I was there. A miracle really,” he grinned. Seb rolled his eyes.

“I mean breaking into those places. You bloody danced, you fabulous freak. You know you enjoyed it.” He nudged him with his foot and they giggled.

“Yeah, okay, it was fun. But so what if I enjoyed it? What's the point if I don’t? I've gotta have some bit of pleasure from it. And if that pleasure is dancing to steal the crown jewels, then so be it. If I go down, I go down in style,” he pulled a model's pose and Seb kissed him gently, laughing as he did so.

“God, you're a freak.”

Jim sneered, “then you're even more of a freak for liking me.”

“Hm, very true. Can't argue with that one. You win there,” he chuckled, stroking his soft hair, getting some tangled in his long fingers.

Jim reached up and took his other hand, kissing it in the same way he did before, letting Seb know that he was about to leave, “I've gotta go for a few hours, go and talk to Sherlock. He'll be waiting for me. Make dinner, would you, sweetheart? I'm starving.”

“Of course, dear.” Seb smiled, feeling alright as he knew he would only be gone for a few hours, not a few weeks this time, “I love you.”

“I know,” he smirked, “I'll be back soon, I promise.” He sat up, pulling some clothes on and trying to look presentable. Seb sighed, reaching over to him, telling him to kneel down a little as he sorted his hair out to look less like he'd just had sex. Which, while it was true, wasn't professional.

“Have a nice time, sweetie. Don't get into too much trouble. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.” Seb called, as Jim started to leave. He stopped and held back a grin.

“I also won't do drugs, alcohol, or get pregnant. And I promise to stay in school.” He did Scout's honour, before rushing out the door and heading to Baker Street, with a grin on his face the whole way.

 

 **For a while,** things were both peaceful and hectic. Their relationship was back to normal, so that was all lovely and they had a nice time. But work was at its peak. He had hundreds of new clients. As Jim put it, he was 'Mr. Sex,' (which led to Seb telling him that he was in fact no such thing and if anyne tried it on with him he'd make sure they'd cower from the mirror for the rest of their days.) They were swept off their feet they were so busy but they still managed to find sufficient time for each other. Between Seb's killings and Jim's meetings, they still managed to steal a few quick kisses. Even at bedtime, they were working. Jim would be texting clients and arranging things, and Seb would be working out the plan for the next day and tracking down his next target(s). But they did so whilst spooning so it didn't feel so much like hard work. Being so busy made time pass quickly. Weeks passed like days and before they knew it, it was time. The fall.

Jim had it all perfectly planned. Every possibility was entertained and planned for. He left nothing to chance. Seb knew the bare bones of what he intended to do, but wouldn't actually be there. He would be on the job, holding a rifle to Dr. Watson's head. He would wait to see him fall and then pack up to go home. That was all he was doing. Then he would wait for Jim to make his way too and then they'd have wine on the balconey and celebrate their own greatness.

Of course, only the first half of that plan actually came into play. Seb did hold the rifle. Sherlock did fall. Seb did pack up and go home.

But Jim didn't follow.

Seb waited in the dining room, excited for this to all be over. He had bought Jim a celebratory cake and even some new tie pins because he knew how much he loved them. He waited for an hour and then opened the expensive bottle of wine for himself, getting a little tired. The excitement began to sizzle down when 3 hours passed and 6 texts to Jim went ignored. He called, but his phone went straight to voicemail. It was then that he knew something was wrong.

He waited as long as he could, his good mood decended into darkness as he paced the length of the table, worrying.

Then he rang the guy he always rang when something was going on he wasn't sure about. He told him, surely he had heard, surely he knew? Seb said he didn't.

Sebastian didn't hear much after the two words that followed because those words were, 'he's dead.'

 

 **It's funny how** humans are so simple. It's only the reaction we show to others that differentiates us. The shock, the horror, the upset, the anger, the disbelief, the knowing that everything is over now is the same with every one. But the way that people show it is what really defines a person. Some turn to drink. Some people blank everything and everyone out. Some carry on as normal. Some support the people around them and bottle up their own feelings. Some go through the motions and come out the other side a stronger person. But there will always be some people who don't have a designated coping mechanism, or one that kicks in out of instinct that they're not aware of. Or sometimes a loss is too great. Sometimes it's too much to just dismiss, or see as 'like the other ones.' Sometimes it just doesn't work. There will always be people like that. Because when you lose someone you love, that you hold dear, your true colours start to show. The things that you hid from the world start to leak through to the surface like dye in the rain. And you're either too numb or don't care enough to stop and think about what you're doing. It's a knee-jerk reaction to the situation you're in.

For Sebastian, his knee-jerk reaction was one not even Jim would have thought him capable of. It wasn't drink, it wasn't sex, it wasn't gambling, it wasn't murder. It was heroine. Sebastian became a junkie. He quickly found, that night in fact, that the only thing that would stop the gaping wound that was Jim leaving, was the rush when he shot up. There was nothing else. He knew alcohol too well. He knew that it wouldn't do it. He needed something far, far stronger. And heroine, he found, was just about strong enough.

He spent the first 12 nights in a crack den. The next 5 on a stranger's sofa. The 2 after that on the streets. He spent 3 nights in jail. He didn't care what happened to him, he refused to sleep another night in that house. He couldn't. The only time he dared go near it was when he needed money for drugs.

He would walk through the empty corridor, avoiding his own gaunt, grey, grieving reflection, and head to the bedroom, where the safe was. There he would open it, take the money, avert his eyes from pictures of Jim, close it, and leave. Of course, sometimes he wasn't as strong as that. One day, he misjudged the distance and ended up glancing at a picture of him and Jim. He froze for a few moments, trapped by his own feelings, and then moved quickly. He grabbed the picture and threw it at the floor, the glass shattering into pieces of mixed size. Then he stayed there, on the laminate, his hands shaking as the thought about it. He looked at the glass and just wondered. Should he?

What was there, now he was gone? The same that there was before he knew him. Which was absolutely fuck all. He grabbed the largest shard of glass. He held it tightly, causing it to cut his hand. Not that he noticed. All that he could think of was that picture that was staring up at him. It was Jim, his beloved Jim, looking a little stropey in a blue onesie, with Sebastian next to him in his own tiger stripped one. He had his arm around the shorter man. He was kissing his cheek. As Sebastian looked down at the picture, all he could think about was the last time he had saw him.

In fact, that ran through his mind a lot when he was coming down, which wasn't often as long as he had the cash. Despite everything he had done to forget it, he remembered it more vividly than anything he had ever remembered. And every time he thought of it, he knew it was his fault.

 

_“You'll be back later, okay? I'll get some wine and we'll celebrate.” Seb kissed his cheek, grinning and hugging him. “We'll have a lovely night... we may even finally get some us time tonight, if you get my thinking,” he pulled away and wiggled his eyebrows at him, smirking. Jim smiled back, but not in his usual way. This felt forced._

_“I hope so.”_

_“Don't be nervous, it'll be fine, I know it will. You've planned this all perfectly. It will all work out. Don't worry about a thing.” He kissed him gently, “my perfect man. I love you. Stay safe. Be home by 5 or the wine will go flat.”_

_Jim took his hand, a little harder than usual. Like he was desperate. And he looked into his eyes. Seb noticed there was a sadness behind them. But he didn't want to think about that._

_“I can't thank you enough for all you've done for me, Seb. To get me here. I appreciate you more than I say, I really do. Always remember that.”_

_Seb smiled, cradeling his face and kissing him once, finally. His last kiss. “I love you.”_

 

“ _You bastard!_ ” Sebastian screamed at the photo on the ground, the glass edging nearer and nearer his arm. “You should have fucking told me! We could have found a way around! And now you've fucking left me here, you selfish bastard, on my fucking own and you expect me to be okay? You expect me to carry on?! Fuck you!” Tears were rolling down his face and dripping onto the floor. His voice suddenly calmed, “well, you know what, Jim? Two can play at that game. Two can be dead.” He announced, dragging the glass across his wrist and then exclaiming, falling backwards in pain. “Fuck!” His voice was a whine of a little boy. He wasn't angry any more. He was scared. He was terrified. It reminded him of his childhood. But this was worse. He was actually going to die this time, not just get hurt by a man that never liked him. “Oh my God...” he held his wound to his chest and leaned back against the sofa, grabbing the picture and keeping it near him. He slid down so he was on his side, the energy draining from him as fast as the blood was. He was going to be with Jim now. Whether it was in some afterlife, or nothingness. He knew that the nothingness would be better than the hell he had lived since the Fall. The panic faded as he looked into the still eyes of his photographic lover on the floor.. This was it. This was end for him. This was the end of the line for Sebastian Moran.

 

 

 

 

_“Seb – no!”_

 

 

 


	16. Back

**Severin Moran sat** on an uncomfortable chair in the hospital waiting room, his head in his hands. He was 9 years younger than his brother yet the resemblance was uncanny. Countless lipsticked aunties and drunk uncles would comment about how similar they were, back in the days when the Morans were still considered a family. He could still remember vividly him and Sebastian sneaking out the back of one his father's social affairs for a cigarette, and Seb promising to always take care of him and be there for him. The next week he left for the army and he didn't see him since. Until he saved his life, of course.

It was strange for him to see his older brother in such away. He was always the strong one. Sev always knew that he took their father's beatings so he wouldn't have to suffer through them. But he never got a chance to thank him. So when he had heard one too many rumours about him sofasurfing and getting arrested and being on, though he still couldn't believe it, heroine, he decided that it was his turn to save him. It was his turn to be strong. He just couldn't have anticipated how bad his brother had gotten. And the perfect timing had started him questioning whether or not there was a divine intervention at some point. He hadn't called their family because he didn't know if Seb would want that. Though Severin still lived with his mother and father, he knew that Sebastian had far less of a relationship with them. He didn't want to add to his list of stresses. A failed suicide attempt was enough to deal with.

The last time he had spoken to him was the morning he left to join the army. It wasn't emotional. It was abrupt. Both parties regretted their last interaction and wished that they had said all that they wanted to say. Though Seb would never admit it, in the many times he thought he was going to die, his mind always went to his little brother. And all he could feel was guilt. Guilt and regret for leaving him in that house with that man. He also felt badly for his mother, but he justified her in his own mind that she chose to marry him and didn't choose to leave so deserved what she got. Though he knew it was cruel and wrong to think that, he just couldn't deal with that part of his life anymore and just needed to get away. Even a warzone was better than what he called his home.

“Severin Moran?” A young doctor stood in the corridor. Sev stood up, shaking himself off. His legs were stiff from being sat down for so long but he didn't care about himself anymore.

“Yes, that's me. Is he okay? Please say he's alright...” He couldn't bare the thought that his brother wasn't. He couldn't even entertain it.

“He's stable. We just need to perform an assessment on him before you can see him, okay? It won't be long, I promise. Is there any other member of family we can contact? Other than yourself, I mean. He talks about a Jim, do you know him?”

Severin shook his head, “no, sorry, I don't-I don't know him... I haven't seen Seb in years, it-it was a miracle I got there when I did, really... I-I don't know what I would have done if- oh God...” Tears spilled over his blonde lashes and fell onto his hand, which wiped them away quickly. The doctor put an arm around him, comforting him.

“Suicide attempts are always hardest on the family... there are people there for you. We can offer therapies for you as well as Sebastian. Would you like a leaflet?”

He politely declined, “no, thank you. Thank you. I'm alright... I just need to see him.”

“It shouldn't be long. An hour at most, I promise,” the doctor took his arm away, starting to leave. “And, Severin, if you need anything, I'm here, alright?”

“Thank you,” he forced a small smile and then sat back down. As much as he tried, he couldn't stop seeing Sebastian's blood every time he closed his eyes. Everywhere. So much of it. And Seb himself lying on the floor, tears running down his cheeks, screaming in pain. Severin was never acclimatised to violence, not like his brother was. He hated it. He hated conflict of any kind. He hated blood. He hated drama. He just wanted a quite, peaceful life but he was starting to get the hint that it wasn't going to be possible for him.

 

**The two brothers** said nothing for a long time. They just held hands and stared at each other, crying. They didn't know what else to do. There  _wasn't_ anything else to do. Sev lowered his gaze to the bandages on his wrist and then let out a sob. 

“How could you- why-?”

“I'm not in a good place, Sev...” Sebastian instinctively took the role of the older brother when ever he was around him. Until he was 18, he made it his only care to protect his little brother from everything, everyone. He sighed, “you didn't ring them did you?”

Sev shook his head, wiping his eyes with his free hand, “no, no. Who can I call? They said something about Jim?”

Sebastian's eyes went dull for a moment and then he responded with, “no. There's no Jim.”

“Oh, okay,” Severin looked down, “did you split up? Is that why-?”

“He's dead,” the monotone of his voice didn't reflect the pain inside. But that was probably a good thing. He couldn't imagine anything that could convey how much he was hurting.

“Oh God, I'm so sorry, I had no idea-” Severin gasped, his hand to his mouth. “You, you should have told me... I'd have been there... You can ring anytime, you know that. I could have helped; I could have done something... I'd do anything for you, Seb, you know that. I love you more than anything; you're my brother for God's sake.”

“You've done enough for me, Sev. If you didn't – if you weren't there when you were, I would have died.”

“Don't talk like that, please...” Severin instantly started crying again. Seb pulled him close so he could hug him.

He held him to his chest, “I'm sorry, Sevy. I should have told you. I should have come to you. I know you'd do anything for me because you're such a fucking perfect guy. I love you too and I'm so sorry I left you there with him; I shouldn't have and I would do anything to undo what I did and I'm so sorry. I love you, I really do.”

“I know, I know... it wasn't your fault. You couldn't stay there... he was awful to you,” he shook his head, sniffing, “I don't blame you at all. I forgive you. It's okay.”

“I should have protected you until you could do it yourself... I was an awful brother. I just left you there with no way out... I was fucking awful and I'm so sorry, Sevy.”

“Please, just... just be quiet. It's okay... I'm just glad you're here to talk at all. Whatever's happened has happened and I don't care about it anymore. I'm going to take care of you now, okay? It's my turn to do the fixing. It'll be like before, when he'd lose it and I'd have to patch you up, eh? It's my turn to make  _you_ better.”

 

**He was a** man who was true to his word. Whilst Sebastian was recovering in hospital, Sev cleaned the house up. He scrubbed the carpet until the blood was gone. He threw the shards of glass out. He hid all the pictures and reminders of Jim where Seb wouldn't find them. He also, on Seb's orders, took the money out of the safe and put it in his own bank account so Seb couldn't go out and take more drugs. And once he was released, he lived with Sebastian in the house and took care of him. He made sure he ate, washed, got dressed, exercised, slept. More importantly, though neither of them knew it was more important at the time, he kept him company. And company was all he needed, more than anything else. He wasn't Jim but he was someone who cared for him just as much. All Sebastian really needed was to know that he wasn't alone in the world, which is what he thought he was after Jim's death. He knew that he was loved. He knew he had a reason to carry on. 

They eventually spoke about Jim. Sebastian told him everything. Every little detail of everything. He knew his brother wouldn't go to the police about anything, he trusted him more than he trusted Jim when he was alive. It felt good to just talk about things. It was what he needed. He talked and he cried and he cried and he talked. Severin listened and comforted him. He felt awful for his brother to lose someone so dear to him. He didn't know how to fix the mess Jim had left, but he tried his hardest.

Seb had his head on his brother's chest. He was crying. He did that a lot.

“I miss him so much... I just miss him being here. I miss his smell. I miss his hair. I miss his bloody psychotic episodes. I miss his tantrums. I just want him back. I want him here. I want you to meet him. I-I wanted to marry him...”

Severin found it hard not to be upset when his brother was so bad, so was crying too, running his fingers through his hair, “I wish I could change it... I really do...”

“I'd sell my fucking sould if I had one... I just need him back. I don't know-I don't know how to carry on, you know? I don't know what to do with my time. I'm not sure how I filled the hours before I knew him; I just know that after I met him every minute was spent thinking about him.”

“Oh, Seb...” the younger of the two shook his head, sniffing.

“But I'm so glad you're here. I need to be thankful for what I do have, which is life and a little brother who's just perfect. I can't thank you enough, I really can't.”

“It's okay... I know you'd do the same for me.”

There was a silence, “does he know you're with me?”

“Mum does. I don't know what she told him though. Possibly. I don't know.”

Seb sighed, “whatever pain he caused me is nothing compared to the pain I'm in after losing Jim so I don't care... nothing can be that bad.”

“He wouldn't hurt you now, not that you're older. He's an old man himself. He doesn't have any strength left.”

“Words hurt too. Sometimes they hurt more.”

 

**The months passed** by quickly. They kept the same routine and Seb found, slowly, that he was starting to heal. Just a little. It was getting less painful to think of him. But he did find that he was finding it harder to remember his face. Detail wasn't there anymore, it was just a hazy image of colour and shape. He hated himself for it, like it was a form of dishonouring his death. The wound healed and so did he, kind of, in the end. With help, he didn't go back to drugs. Christmas was painful, though. Severin made sure he spent every moment with him over the holiday. They didn't separate. He needed to make sure that he was okay and that he could get through it. 

It hurt him to be doing with Sev what he should have been doing with Jim, like opening presents and having the Christmas meal and pulling crackers. It felt like betraying Jim, in a weird way. Sebastian wasn't excited about Christmas, so Severin did all the preparation, like Seb had the year before. He cried when he thought about how he'll never get that time back again.

Except he would because Jim Moriarty wasn't actually dead. He was very much alive and living in a small island he owned off the coast of Australia. The 10 month period of being in hiding without Seb was just as painful for him. He had intended to get someone to update him on Seb's status, but once he heard about the drugs he decided he didn't want to hear anymore. Just because he didn't receive updates, didn't mean he wasn't constantly thinking about him. Because he was. He just knew that the more he was told, the more he'd worry. He wished more than anything that he could reach him and tell him that he was okay, that he would be back soon. But he couldn't risk it. He had lots of bad people after him and couldn't leave anything to chance. If Seb was seen going to visit some strange off-map island, they would guess. He just couldn't risk it. Any mistake and he really would be dead.

It was a waiting game. He had anticipated it would take a few months, but he didn't think it would be as long as it was. He needed to wait for his men to take out the people who were after him. It took a surprising amount of time to execute without the other parties involved getting suspicious. But, after 10 long months, it was finally done and he was able to come home. He convinced himself that it was going to be alright, that all would be forgiven, but he knew it wouldn't. He was too nervous and guilty to put into words. For once in his life, he didn't know how to deal with the situation. He didn't know what to say, how to say it. He didn't know how to be forgived. He wasn't even sure if he could be. 

 

**Sebastian and Severin** had gone shopping for a few hours and were consequentially out when Jim came back. So he waited in the living room, his leg moving up and down uncontrollably through his nervousness. He was given an ETA of 3 minutes by one of his spies. That's when the nerves really kicked in. He didn't know what to do. He stared around the living room and was too anxious to notice that the white rug was a little bit brown in some parts and that all his pictures were gone. 

The car pulled up. There was some light chatter. He took a deep breath. The door opened.

“Hello, handsome.” Flirting was always his go-to thing when he didn't know what else to do, and, judging by the look that was on Sebastian's face and the shopping that was now on the floor, it wasn't a good choice of introduction. So he added, “guess what? Not dead.” He gave a small chuckle and smile. Very, very small.

Sebastian took 4 steps towards him and then froze. His face was stone. It was then that Jim could see how much he had aged in the months he hadn't seen him for. And it was then that he realised that he had caused more damage than he had thought.

There were no words as Sebastian grabbed him by the throat and held him against the wall, easily a foot above the ground. Severin came in and also dropped his bags when he saw the situation. He took a retake and moment to see what was going on. He called out for him to stop, but both Sebastian and Jim were deaf to his words. They were oblivious to anything except the look in each other's eyes. Jim was pleading with him silently and Seb was purely focused on trying not to kill him, as much as his instinct was to snap him in half. He held him there for a good minute and then punched him in the gut, letting him fall to the floor. He took a step back, taking loud and shallow breaths.

Jim looked up at him, his legs to his side, his throat burning, “you never told me you had a brother.”

“Oh, are we talking about things we haven't told each other now? Well,  _how about letting me think_ -” he couldn't stop himself from kicking him in the stomach, “ _that you were fucking dead?!_ ” He kicked him and kicked him until Severin dragged him away. 

Jim coughed, blood splattering onto his hand, “I know you're angry, but please... don't do this. Act rationally.”

“Rationally?  _Act rationally?_ ” Seb laughed, clicking his knuckles. Then he grabbed Jim by the collar and dragged him to the front door, “how about you get the fuck out before I actually kill you? Because I'm pretty sure the only way I'm  _ever_ going to know if you are  _actually_ dead is if I kill you myself, right?”

Jim was sobbing, still on the floor and in pain in lots of places, “please just hear me out-”

“No. I'm fucking done with hearing you out, Jim. You had 10 fucking months to tell me. Now it's too late. It's too fucking late, you bastard. Look at me,” he ordered and Jim did so, looking like a rabbit caught in headlights. “You know how late this is? Do you know how this could have been?” He pulled up his sleeve, revealing the streak of scar. Jim stopped sobbing. He stopped everything. “It could have been pretty fucking permanent. And you know what? I wish it was. Just so you could see that you can't use me like this anymore. So you wouldn't have a Sebastian to come back to.”

Jim snapped out of it when he pulled his sleeve back down. Then he put his hands in front of himself like a beggar, “Sebastain, I have never been more sorry in my life. I have done something truly despicable. I-”

“Save your words. I'll tell you this now: James Moriarty, I will never forgive you. Ever. I will never, ever forgive you for doing this to me. This cannot be forgiven.” And with that, he literally kicked him out of the house and slammed the door.

 


	17. Patches

**Jim sat alone** in a hotel room, staring at a cold cup of tea. The high-pitched hum was in his head again but it didn't bother him. It was freezing cold but that didn't bother him. He hadn't gotten changed but that didn't bother him. Only one thing mattered to him anymore: making it up to Sebastian. He needed to get him back. He knew for sure that he couldn't function without him, and vice versa. They needed each other. 

At the same time, Sebastian was sat in the kitchen, with Severin patching up his hand from where he'd cut it from punching the wall in anger at Jim's return. He focused on trying to contain his emotions, but he was struggling. Severin didn't know what to say or what to do, so he stayed quiet. Then he heard his brother sobbing and he had to bring him into a hug. He held him close and rubbed his back like their mother always used to do. It calmed him but it didn't stop the hurt inside. 

"I-I don't know what to do, Sevvy..." his cry was like a howl of a dying animal and all Severin wanted to do was make it better. So he took him up to bed and made him some tea. He tucked him in and stroked his head as he cried. He wiped away his tears and hugged him when he needed it. He stayed with him until he fell asleep.

Jim went out and killed. It felt wrong doing it without Seb, but it was an urge that needed to be taken care of. Of course, he had to do everything himself which reminded him painfully that Seb wasn't there to help anymore. What was he kidding, every thing reminded him of Seb. From the moment he got up to the second he fell into subconsciousness, everything was laced with connotations of Sebastian Moran.

 **In the weeks**  after Jim's revelation, the only solace he could find was scanning through CCTV footage looking at Seb. He saw it like keeping an eye on him and making sure he was alright.  He also regularly hacked into his computer to see how he was and watch him on the webcam. It was creepy but he was lonely and it was the only way he could convince himself he was alright. He got to see first hand how badly Sebastian had deteriorated. The confrontation didn't give him much time to see him close up or to take anything in. But he was sure that he could see more lines on his face and darker patches around his eyes. He could also see the kindness of Severin, his brother, which caused ambivalence.

  
He was happy for Seb that he had such a loving sibling, but he was jealous. Severin couldn't have been further from the only thing Jim had ever called a 'brother.'  He was glad Sebastian had him, for he was certain he would be dead if he didn't, but he was still a little bitter about the whole thing.

But the top of his list of priorities was to, of course, get Sebastian back. He wasn't sure if he could, but he knew he would try his damned hardest.

 **Seb**  wasn't doing so well. Severin noticed and tried to cheer him up but none of his efforts ever made any difference. He didn't want to leave the house and he only ever got drunk and angry.

"Why don't you just... talk to him?" Sev suggested, casually, one day as they were sat down watching daytime TV together. 

"Talk to him? And say what? 'Thanks for coming back and ruining my life for the second time?' Jesus, Seb, I couldn't even bare to look at him."

Severin sighed, growing tired of his brother's constant snapping and mood changes. They had become more frequent since Jim's return and Sev was finding it hard to keep any form of patience, "just talk to him. For God's sake, you love him and I think he loves you too so just get on with it."

  
"No! He hurt me! No more! I can't deal with him."

  
"You're drunk. I'm not talking to you like this. It's only 3 o'clock and you're drunk, Seb... I can't deal with this. Sort yourself out." Severin sighed, got up, and left. He sat in the spare room which he had claimed in the weeks he'd been there, and cried for a while. Then he opened up his phone.

He hadn't told Seb, or anyone, but he had received a text from Jim a few weeks previous. It just said [Talk him around.] but he knew who it was from. He wasn't sure how to deal with it, but seeing how badly Seb had deteriorated he decided it was about time he took the advice.

  
[Kiss and make up because I can't deal with him anymore - Sev]

Jim was delighted to finally have a response, having almost forgotten he'd text him in the first place. 

[Do you think he'd tried to kill me if I came around again?]

[I don't know and I don't care. He can't get worse than he is now. Just get back with him because I'm leaving - Sev]

Sev then packed his small amount of stuff and left, despite his brother's drunken protests. He went back to his mother and father. They quizzed him and quizzed him and he wouldn't say. His mother gave up but his father did not. It ended like it always did: with tears. Sev wished that he hadn't returned but, realistically, neither option was good. He worried about Seb incessantly but vowed not to check on him. He just lived in the hope that Jim would do what he said he would.

Seb drank, of course. He gave up calling after him once the door had slammed. Then he threw a bottle at the wall, drank through a few more, and then sobbed into the uncomfortable but decorative pillow on the sofa.

Jim got in the car. He knew what he had to say, he just wasn't sure how to say it. But he knew he had to try. He couldn't give up. He needed him back.

It was 5pm when he got there. It was a freezing cold January and frost was in the air, nipping at any part of bare skin he dared to show. His breath circles around him as he walked carefully up the steps to the door. By now, the Christmas was gone and it was just an ordinary looking house, with icicles coming from the drain pipes. He could see the lamp light sneaking through the curtains from where they hadn't been shut properly. Letting out another visible breath, he knocked the door three times. There was shuffling from inside, a sigh, and then the door opened.

Sebastian's face was stone when he saw him. "What are you doing here?" His voice was no longer emotional, it just sounded done.

"I needed to talk to you," Jim's voice lacked its usual confidence and flamboyancy and instead was small and hollow. "I know you hate me right now but please, please just hear me out. I think we owe each other a few minutes, don't you?" He looked right at him. 

There was a pause. "Fine. Three minutes. That's all you're getting." A part deep inside of him was glad to see Jim's face again, but he pushed that part of him far away so he didn't have to think of it.

Jim took a deep breath and started, ignoring the deathly cold that was creeping up on him. 

"I was wrong. I'll start by getting that out there. I was wrong. I shouldn't have done what I did and I should have realised what it would have done to you. And I'm sorry. I truly am. I am sorry for what I did. But, I'd do it again. 100% I would do it again, do you know why?" He paused, taking in Seb's shocked and slightly angry face. "Because it made me realise how much I need you. 9 months without you almost killed me and I know it was the same for you too." He closed his eyes briefly and blocked out the painful memory of Seb's scars. Then he looked back. "I didn't know I could ever rely on someone. I didn't think I was capable of... needing. I've always seen myself as some indestructible, untouchable thing. But I'm not, you see. I'm quite far from it. Because, in those 9 months, I realised that I need you. Nothing else. I don't care what situation we're in, where we are, how much money we have, if I'm not eating and if you're blind drunk. I couldn't care less. I just need you. I need my colonel. And I think that if I don't get you back, I'm gonna lose it.

"I realised something else, too, when I was apart from you. And I don't think you'd realised. I don't even know if I did. It just dawned on me one day...." he took another breath, trying to calm his nerves and he prayed he was getting through to him on some level. "That I've never told you that I love you."

He paused again and braced himself for his reaction. Seb's mouth fell open like a goldfish and then he closed it again. He racked through his mind to think of a time when Jim had said 'I love you' and, as much as he prayed he would, he couldn't find a time. Not once, in all those months, in all those embraces, all those kisses, all those late nights and early mornings, in all those bad times and the ecstatic moments. Not once. Never had those words passed Jim's lips. Only ever Seb's. 

"Not because I didn't. Don't think that. Not because I didn't love you- not that I don't." Jim reached out and grasped his hand and Seb was too shocked to pull away. "Just because I didn't think I could. I was scared. Seb, I was  _scared_. You know me, you know everything I do and everything I've done and what am I scared of? Loving someone. Stupid, I know, but hey ho. But I realised, in my time away and our... interaction when I came back. I realised that I am, in fact, capable of needing. I'm not perfect. I'm not superhuman. And Sebastian Moran," he looked up at him, "I realised that I love you." God, did it feel good to say that, like a weight off his mind and off his chest.

Seb let a tear fall, took a deep breath to say something, and then gave up. As he cried, he let Jim hug him. It felt nice to finally have him back in his arms, even if he had sworn on many a drunken night that he would kill him if he ever saw him again. He held him close and they hugged.

As they cried to each other, mumbling emotional things and repeating over and over again how sorry they were, flakes began to fall from the sky. They started off small and quickly grew to fully-sized snowflakes. They parted a little  and looked up, letting out an emotional laugh and kissing each other. 

"Start again, okay? We're going to start again... no more arguments, no more lies. Just the truth, what ever form it may be in. The truth." 

"Of course." Jim hummed, nodding, his head resting on his shoulder as they did a sort-of shuffle in the front porch, with snow resting on the stops of their heads and backs and shoulders and any other stickable surface. 

"It's cold, sweetie, come on. We've let all the hot air out of the house." Seb led him inside, closing the door. He wiped the flakes from his lover's hair. "You get the kettle on. Two hot chocolates and two hot water bottles. I'll get all the blankets from the spare room and set up the living room. We're having a snow day." 

"It's 5pm. More of a snow night?"

"Whatever," he kissed his forehead, "I don't care what time it is as long as I've got you right next to me."

Jim grinned, relieved beyond words to have finally won him back, "I love you so much, Sebby." 

"I love you too, Jim Jam. Now get the kettle on!"


	18. Part of a Family

"I don't deserve someone as sweet as you, I really don't..." Jim muttered in his ear as they hugged. "But I'm glad I have you."

"You deserve the world... and I promise I'll try to give it to you."

Jim clung onto him, "I love you so much."

"I know... no more pretending to be dead, okay? I can't be a widow." 

He chuckled a little and held him closer, "I won't I promise. No more. Not ever again. I promise."

"Good... I'd really kill you if you did." 

He smirked, "I love you."

"I love you too. Now come on, we're going shopping for a proper ring!"

 **So he took**  him shopping to the most expensive shops where no one gave them a funny look for being 'two men getting married.' Jim, of course, picked out a beautiful diamond ring (because it was 'pretty' and he 'needed it') and they headed back home, both in a wonderful mood, to spend the evening watching DVDs and cuddling.

It had occurred to them both, Jim more so, that they were becoming 'domesticated.' Had they been the people they were a few years ago, they would have run away screaming from the idea. But they were changed men. And they found that domestic life was suiting them well. 

And so began the 'normal' chapter of Moriarty's life.

 


End file.
